


Dreams: To Stay by His Side

by stickdonkeys



Series: Memories and Dreams Series [3]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (that will make sense in then end), Awkwardness, M/M, Slow Build, Solitary Confinment does things to people, Thorin doesn't escape from Mirkwood mentally unharmed, cannon modifications as needed to spice things up, courtship misunderstandings, happy ending AU . . . sort of, hobbits don't swim, idealized situations, intelligent!Bilbo with a spine, jealous!Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 158,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickdonkeys/pseuds/stickdonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Bilbo had made different choices at crucial moments during the quest to reclaim Lonely Mountain from Smaug? A companion piece to Memories: Beautiful and Painful Things. Mix of Movieverse and Bookverse with no major spoilers since we are going AU with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brooding in the Dark and Bets in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This story is sort of a companion piece to Memories: Beautiful and Painful Things. But you don't have to have read the other to read this. They are only really connected by the fact that this could be viewed as the dream that Bilbo has at the end of the first one. Mainly this was inspired by the idea of what could have happened if Bilbo would have handled the business with the Arkenstone differently.
> 
> Since I figure that everyone reading in this fandom has either read the book, seen the movie or done both, we're going to pick up where the movie left off and go from there. Events from here on out will follow the book, sort of, but will build off the expanded relationships from the movie (and some of the added scenes/changed events). If anyone is lost and needs a movie synopsis (or a book synopsis) feel free to message me. Now, onto the story!

For the first time since they had left Rivendell Bilbo was truly content. There was warm food on the table—even if it  _had_  been put there by dogs—a fire in the hearth and a roof over their heads. What more could he ask for. While it was true that Beorn, the skin-changer whose home they were staying in, was rather intimidating due to his large size and booming voice, he was a good host. Bilbo had to admit that much, even if he did resent the fact that earlier that day Beorn had lifted him off the ground and poked his belly calling him a "little bunny."

The dwarves, with the exception of Thorin, had found endless amusement in his new epithet. Fíli and Kíli, in particular, had taken to calling him "Master Bunny" to the ever increasing amusement of the others. Even though their mirth at his expense irritated Bilbo, he was comforted by it and allowed them to do it—not that he could have stopped them—since he took it as a sign that they were beginning to accept him. Teasing seemed to be a way that dwarves—or at least  _these_  dwarves—showed affection to one another.

Even so, he hadn't been upset when Thorin had put an end to it for the night citing the need for sleep. Bilbo had gratefully shot their leader a look of thanks, and had felt crestfallen when Thorin had ignored it. Ever since Thorin had hugged Bilbo on the Carrok where the eagles had left them the Dwarf King had been more distant than ever. Though at least now there was not a feeling of hostility to the distance.

The hobbit assumed that it was because Thorin was embarrassed by his actions. The dwarf didn't exactly strike Bilbo as the hugging type. In fact, he had never even seen  _any_ of the dwarves exchange hugs. Other small signs of affection, yes, but those consisted of a grasped arm or a shoulder pat. Even Fíli and Kíli had seemed shocked at their Uncle's behavior, almost as shocked as Bilbo himself had been. That alone was enough to explain Thorin's current coolness towards the hobbit. Given time, things would equalize again, though Bilbo knew that the new equilibrium would not be the same as the old one.

Had Bilbo chosen to ask the Dwarf King about his actions—and had Thorin decided to answer—he would have said that he  _was_  embarrassed with himself, but not for the hug. He could easily explain that. Thorin had been more than pleased to see that the Halfling had survived his foolish decision to step between an orc and himself. Not to say that Thorin wasn't pleased and grateful that he had done it. He was. However, he was embarrassed that he had placed Bilbo in that position in the first place.

He was a king, and more than old enough to control himself . . . or so his conscience reminded him. He never should have given into his rage and frustration and charged Azog. He should have stayed in the tree with the others and waited to defend his people rather than rushing headlong into a situation that he  _knew_  was hopeless. If he would only have controlled himself the Halfling would never have needed to place his life in danger. Even though it had all worked out for the best, Thorin could not stop himself from feeling guilty about the possibility that it might not have. How could he be a good king to his people when he could not even govern himself?

The last question plagued his mind and as the rest of the company settled down for the night he continued to sit and stare into the dying embers of the fire thinking. He thought of the many errors he had made in his life and wondered how many more he was going to make before he made a fatal one. His rejection of the hobbit as the fourteenth member of the company would have been a fatal one if not for the stubbornness of hobbits—or perhaps just Bilbo. At the last thought a small, fond smile crossed Thorin's face.

He felt that he could be forgiven for his doubt of the hobbit, even if he had been wrong. With his beardless face and soft hands that looked as though they had never done a day's labor—let alone held a sword—what was Thorin  _supposed_ to have thought. He still thought that the hobbit looked more like a grocer than a burglar, but he had to admit that he had been wrong. Despite his initial softness, Bilbo had proven to have a steel core that no one would have ever suspected. Thorin was not ashamed in the least to count him as a member of the company.

It was like this that Balin found him some hours later when he arose to relieve himself. Thorin was lost in thought and staring into a dead fire as though it held all the answers in the world. With a sigh Balin cautiously approached his King so as not to startle him. Thorin was a formidable warrior and dangerous when startled. Despite his caution, when he spoke softly Thorin still jerked violently and his hand moved to the hilt of his sword before he turned to face the other dwarf.

Thorin was shocked to see that the room was much dimmer than it had been. Through the dimness he could still see Balin's soft smile and the concern in his eyes before he spoke.

"Thorin," Balin said gently, the words a suggestion, "do you not think you should rest? It has only been a few days since you almost died."

Thorin sighed. He didn't desire sleep, but he could see the logic in Balin's words. As a dwarf, he might be better able to resist fatigue but he had been injured. Eventually he nodded.

"I will sleep," Thorin said his voice a quiet rumble in the sleeping hall. He didn't say anything else, but he had no need to. The other knew that his suggestion had been heard and accepted. With a small bow he turned and returned to his borrowed bed.

"Good night, Thorin," He called over his shoulder before he laid himself down though his dark eyes continued to stare at the King for a time. Knowing that Balin would not stop until he at least lay down, Thorin stood from his chair fighting down a groan as his bruised muscles protested the action. Even though he knew that sleep would still be a long time coming, he had to admit that after so long sleeping on the ground a real mattress felt exquisite. He couldn't blame the hobbit for missing the comforts of his home.

With that thought, Bilbo once again rose to the front of his mind. He knew that it was wrong, but he couldn't help but remember how fragile the halfling had felt when he had hugged him. He hadn't realized just how differently hobbits and dwarves were built. Instead of hard muscle and thick bones, Bilbo was all soft flesh over thin, small bones. He hoped that he hadn't hurt the burglar in his show of gratitude. Thorin sighed at the thought. He knew that he should ask, but he couldn't bring himself to broach the subject with the hobbit.

Even though he had not thought sleep would come, soon Thorin entered into the realm of dreams with the image of a beardless face in his mind and something akin to warmth in his heart for the first time in longer than he could remember. He didn't understand what caused it, but he was not going to delve too deeply into it. Even without knowing the cause, it was a pleasant feeling.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The next morning dawned bright and, too early for his taste, Bilbo awoke to the suppressed sound of dwarven laughter and the strangest feeling along the bottoms of his feet.

"Told you it wouldn't work," he heard Kíli mutter. "Pay up." The next sound he heard was the distinct chink of coins that had been in the air being caught.

"Maybe you didn't do it right," he heard Bofur say, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Let me give it a go."

"Just pay up already," Fíli demanded exasperated. He had known that Bofur would try to get out of the bet somehow. Questioning their ability to complete the task was a cheap trick. "There's only so many ways to do it."

"Let him have a go," Kíli replied causally. He knew that they had done their job well. There was nothing that Bofur could do differently. " _Then_  he can pay up."

Bilbo wondered what they could possibly be talking about when he felt what could only be one of the flaps of Bofur's hat move across the arch of his foot. Once he realized what was happening he sat up with a shout of "I beg your pardon!" and pulled his feet under the blanket. He glared at the foot of his bed, where a grinning Bofur and a disappointed Fíli and Kíli stood.

"Told you you didn't do it right," Bofur smirked before holding out his hand expectantly. Without making eye contact with the other dwarf, Kíli sullenly gave him the bag of gold in his hand and dug in his shirt to retrieve another to join it while a dour Fíli tossed the gold back to a grinning Dwalin.

"I knew with feet that big they had to be ticklish," Dwalin said with a smirk at the youngest two of the dwarves.

"You should have known better than to bet against Dwalin, lads," Balin replied laughter coloring his words. "He never takes a bet he cannot win."

"Still don't see how they could be," Fíli muttered darkly. "With him going barefoot all the time."

"Excuse me," Bilbo cut in having just figured out what all this was about but wanting to be sure before he said anything more. "Were the lot of you taking  _bets_  on whether or not my feet are ticklish?"

The assembled dwarves muttered in agreement with shrugs and unconcerned gestures as though betting on the sensitivity of a sleeping member of the company was common practice. With a sigh and a shake of his head Bilbo looked at them attempting to keep his expression stern even though he was amused and slightly flattered that they cared enough to learn something about him . . . even if it was an odd something.

"You could have asked," Bilbo said finally his tone exasperated. "It would have saved you time and effort."

"But where's the fun in that?" Kíli asked suddenly, his eyes alight with mischief. He only hoped that his brother would realize what he was hinting at.

"Besides," Fíli added realizing that he could still have his fun even if he couldn't have the gold from the bets. Riling Bilbo was fun, as long as he didn't push too far. He figured that his Uncle would have something to say if he did. "You could have lied. This way we knew for sure."

"Why would I have lied about that?" Bilbo demanded, slightly affronted that they would think he would lie to them about something so trivial. With a twinge of guilt he remembered the ring in his pocket. He  _had_  lied to them about it and it really was a trivial thing, even if it was useful.

"So that we wouldn't know it is a good way to get you out of bed in the morning," Bofur replied. "I would have thought that the sounds of others eating would do it, but you didn't even stir." At his words, the thought crossed Bilbo's mind that the room was incredibly bright and made him wonder what time it was. He panicked a little as he realized that he may have missed the morning meal entirely, and there was no way there would be food left. Not after thirteen hungry dwarves had had their way with it. He still remembered what they had done to his pantry.

Seeing the panic on the hobbit's face, Kíli laughed and walked to where the dwarves had eaten breakfast not long ago. He picked up a bowl that was still filled with food. A couple of the others covered their mouths and snickered into their beards as they saw what was in the bowl. Noticing this, Bilbo eyed the young dwarf warily. Kili smirked at the suspicious look in the eyes of the hobbit.

As Kíli lowered the bowl, Bilbo half expected it to be empty, but it wasn't. In the bowl, filling it nearly to the brim, was a fresh garden salad. Wondering what had the dwarves so amused about a garden salad he looked up at them curiously.

"We saved it for you," Bombur explained with a grin of his own.

"Thank you," Bilbo replied graciously. Even if he was still waiting for the punch line it was no reason not to be polite. "That was very kind of you."

"It was the least we could do for you. We know how much you like salads, Master Bunny," Fíli said, completing the joke his brother had begun. Bilbo said nothing, but laughed with the others as the joke was completed. Despite what he had initially thought about dwarves, they really weren't half-bad once you got to know them.


	2. Braids and Ultimatums

Later that day, Bilbo was regretting his thought that morning. They were on the road once more, riding on ponies Beorn had lent them to help them pass swiftly through the fields to the east of Beorn's home on their way to Mirkwood. Even though they were riding quickly in an effort to beat the wargs, the dwarves' spirits were not dampened in the least. In fact, the danger only seemed to make them more lively.

Bilbo had now decided that dwarves were more than half-bad and only got worse once you got to know them. He had given the wrong reaction that morning, or so he guessed. They seemed to have decided that he  _enjoyed_  being teased by them and were taking great liberties with him now.

Thankfully, Thorin had put an end to the Master Bunny bit right after breakfast, but now they had found new material for their jokes. At the moment the topic they were discussing was his feet. Again. Namely, the fact that he "had more hair on them than any other part of his body."

"I don't know," Bofur had said in response as the dwarves continued talking about Bilbo as though he was not there. "He could have hair elsewhere, concealed by his clothes. That could explain why he wears so many layers of cloth."

 _Wonderful,_  Bilbo thought with an exasperated sigh and a slight flush as he adamantly hoped that they did not decide to take bets on his body hair or lack thereof. At the mention of his clothes, he looked down at his ruined waistcoat and wondered why he still bothered to wear it. With his buttons gone it was no longer serving its purpose but something in him would not let him dispose of it.

"You're probably right," Kíli called over his shoulder with a smirk at Bilbo his eyes sparkling with mischief. "He has to have hair somewhere, especially since it is missing from his face. I had a better beard than that as a child."

"What do you mean, as a child," Bilbo called back wanting to try to get back at the dwarf. "Aren't you still a child?" The rest of the company laughed at Bilbo's reply. He wasn't too far off the mark with his comment.

"I'm older than you," Kíli retorted sounding more like a petulant child than a proud dwarf declaring his age. Bilbo rolled his eyes at the statement. He knew that dwarves aged differently than hobbits, but he couldn't see how Kíli could be older than him.

"Is that so?" Bilbo asked rising to the challenge. "I doubt it."

"How old are you, Master Hobbit," Fíli replied with a smirk. He knew that this was about to get interesting. He couldn't wait to see how Bilbo reacted to learning Kíli's age. It always surprised everyone, even a few dwarves.

"I am fifty," Bilbo replied puffing himself up on his borrowed pony and doing his best to look dignified.

"Fifty?!" Kíli demanded incredulously while the other dwarves shared uncomfortable glances. They hadn't realized that the hobbit was  _only_  fifty. They couldn't believe that Gandalf would have chosen someone so young to accompany them. Though the hobbit had done admirably he was still very young to be included in such a dangerous quest. Even Thorin was shocked by the pronouncement. He hadn't known either.

"Does that mean that I have bested you?" Bilbo asked with a smirk. He thought that their shock was at the fact that he was as old as he was, not the other way around. He did have to admit that he was fairly well preserved for a hobbit.

"No," Kíli replied with another smile, this one was almost predatory and Bilbo was suddenly reminded of Thorin. For the first time he could see the familial resemblance. "I still have you beat. I'm seventy-seven. It's not much more, but I am older."

"Perhaps by mere numbers," Bilbo replied with a knowing smile. "But in the Shire, adulthood is reached at thirty-two. When do dwarves reach maturity?"

At Bilbo's last words, the company once again broke into laughter. "He's got you there, lad," Balin said with a pat of Kíli's shoulder.

Even Thorin smiled. He was glad that the hobbit was at least attempting to hold his own with his kin. He had been a little worried when they had begun the morning by teasing him that Bilbo would take offense, but he had handled it well. It hadn't been for his sake that Thorin had stopped them from calling the Halfling Master Bunny. It was because the name reminded Thorin of how he had gained it and the feeling of helplessness that had flooded him at seeing the hobbit lifted off the ground by the giant skin-changer and being unable to do anything about it.

He didn't understand why the Halfling had such an effect on him. He had known that the hobbit was not truly in danger, yet he had still feared for him. Thorin supposed that if he had to offer an explanation, he would say that it was because he now felt that he owed Bilbo . . . but that explanation did not explain everything he felt towards the hobbit. He knew something that did, but he refused to give that idea thought, let alone to speak it. But, perhaps, he would have to find a way to spend more time with their resident hobbit.

Suddenly an idea came to him in the voice of the very being he had been thinking of.

"I still don't understand your fascinations with braids," Bilbo said, his voice curious rather than mocking. "They are very pretty. And I suppose they are useful, but . . . "

"But what?" Fíli demanded.

"No," the hobbit replied, losing his nerve in the face of so many dwarves looking at him in curiosity and annoyance. "N-nothing. Nothing at all."

"Now, Master Baggins," Bofur threatened, "we won't be accepting "nothing" as your answer. You began this and you will finish it. We know how to make you talk now."

"You wouldn't!" Bilbo exclaimed. He didn't think that they would actually resort to  _that_  for information, but the smirks on the faces of the others told him that he was mistaken. They would. Shaking his head at the stubbornness of dwarves, Bilbo answered their question, knowing that he was about to put his foot in his mouth.

"Fine," he said suddenly, closing his eyes. "They seem to be functional, but they would be more at home on a pretty little hobbit lass than on questing dwarves." The explosion of sound and protests was so loud that Bilbo instantly regretted his decision. He should have just kept his mouth shut, or better yet have ignored the doorbell all those nights ago and then he would never have been in this situation in the first place. His mortification only increased as Thorin turned and glanced at him, something about the way that he was looking a Bilbo made him wish that he had never said a word about dwarf braids. If he didn't know better, he would think that the dwarf king was plotting mischief.

And he was right. What Bilbo failed to remember was that even though Thorin was more stoic than Fíli and Kíli, they were still related. The same mischief that lived within them had once shown in Thorin, though it was now concealed beneath his worry and responsibilities. As the King looked at the hobbit, his mischievous side sought an outlet through the medium of Bilbo's unruly, long hair. He would pay the Burglar back for his comment and get to spend some time with him in the process.

**ooOO88OOoo**

That night, as they made camp Bilbo watched the others warily. He still felt like there was some plot brewing that he did not know about and all the discussions that had taken place in Khuzdul since he had made that dratted comment about dwarf braids had him all the more suspicious. So when he left the group to wash his hands and face in the cool stream a short distance from camp, he kept glancing over his shoulder expecting the prank would happen soon.

He truly wanted to bathe himself, but was worried that the moment he removed his clothes they would be taken back to camp without him in them. He almost found himself wishing that the dwarves were still impartial to his presence rather than welcoming. At least then he had been able to bathe in peace. He was so prepared for them to prank him that when he heard the sound of footsteps on the path behind him, he turned so suddenly that he almost crashed into Thorin.

The King simply raised an eyebrow and looked at Bilbo in curiosity, but said nothing.

"Sorry," Bilbo muttered. "I thought you were one of the others."

"And one of the others would merit such a response?" Thorin asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he fought to keep the amusement from his face. The hobbit suspected nothing.

"Yes. I mean . . . no," Bilbo said flustered by the look the dwarf was giving him and their proximity. They had not been this close since Thorin had hugged him. In fact he had almost thought that Thorin was avoiding him. An idea that he had rejected when he remembered that Thorin was not the type to avoid a problem.

"I see," Thorin replied with a small laugh. Even if he didn't suspect Thorin, the hobbit was still flustered and the king found himself wondering what had the poor burglar in such a state.

"Um," Bilbo began attempting to come up with a way to break the tension of the situation. The only thing he could come up with was to take a step back so they were not quite so close. It didn't do much, but it was better than nothing.

"Did you need something from me, Thorin? Or were you just going to the stream?" Bilbo asked hoping that he could change the subject and perhaps get Thorin to stop looking at him like that. Something about the dwarf's gaze was unnerving.

"I was looking for you," Thorin replied his eyes never leaving Bilbo's face as he stepped forward to lessen the distance that Bilbo had placed between them. Watching as Bilbo swallowed at his movement.

"Whatever for," Bilbo asked, turning to face the stream so that he at least didn't have to see Thorin's eyes. He walked forward and knelt to do what he had originally come to do. Thorin sighed at the slight rejection before he walked forward and placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder taking care to do it gently so as not to hurt him.

"You need a haircut, Halfling," Thorin said suddenly from behind Bilbo just as he touched him. The hobbit jumped in shock. He hadn't heard the dwarf come up, and as large as Thorin was—in comparison to Bilbo—he was surprised at the stealth possessed by the dwarf king.

"I do," Bilbo agreed, proud of himself when his voice didn't betray his shock or pleasure that Thorin had noticed. He stood slowly and turned to face the dwarf again.

"But I don't have a way to do it. So unless you are proposing to cut it using Orcrist, I don't see a way to cut it." Bilbo panicked as he watched Thorin stroke his beard and his eyes fill with speculation.

"No," Bilbo said backing away from the dwarf stepping in the cool stream in the process and realizing he had nowhere else to go. "No, Thorin. You are not going to cut my hair with a sword. I like my ears where they are. Thank you very much, but no."

Thorin sighed before giving a small laugh at the hobbit's assumptions. "Calm yourself, Halfling," Thorin said. "I was not considering that. I was thinking of borrowing a knife from one of the others, or perhaps that letter opener you call a sword. Orcrist is too large to remove excess hair."

"No," Bilbo said again. "I'm not letting you cut my hair with a knife either. It's either scissors or nothing."

"We don't have scissors you stubborn thing," Thorin said exasperated. "It is simple, Bilbo. You have two options: you can allow me, or the dwarf of your choice, to cut your hair with whatever implement we can find that will serve the purpose  _or_  you can allow me to braid it out of your face. Those are your options. Pick one."

"And what if neither of those options appeals to me?" Bilbo asked his tone daring the other to say something about it. He understood that Thorin was a king, but he would not be cowed into submission on this so easily.

"If you will not pick," Thorin threatened quietly, leaning towards the hobbit so that his breath ghosted across the face of the other. "Then I will pick for you. And you may not like my choice. I heard you conversation with my nephews about braids being more in place on pretty hobbit lasses than hardened warriors. If I pick, you will be done up just like a hobbit lass."

"You wouldn't dare," Bilbo said attempting to lean away but being forced to stay where he was or risk losing his balance and falling in the stream. He knew that the dwarf was pig-headed, but this . . . he wouldn't do it. Would he?

"Try me," Thorin replied crossing his arms over his chest though his bruises protested the movement. He was amused by the challenge and fear that were warring for dominance in Bilbo's voice and eyes. He halfway hoped that the hobbit would refuse. It would be endlessly amusing.


	3. Decisions, Wounds, Concessions and Shame

For some time after Thorin had voiced his threat, Bilbo simply glared up at the dwarf weighing his options. On the one hand, he could submit to Thorin cutting his hair and risk being cut in the process . . . the alternative didn't even bear consideration. There was no way that he, Bilbo Baggins, could allow himself to be seen sporting braids. No matter  _how_  masculine the dwarves insisted they were. This left him with only one viable option: he would have to flee.

There was no way around it. If only he could get around Thorin and make it back to camp he would be safe. Despite the dwarf King's determination that something be done with Bilbo's hair, the latter knew that Thorin would never stoop to offering his services as a barber to a Halfling in front of his kin. Escape was a very viable third option.  _Now for the difficult part,_ Bilbo thought attempting to keep the smile off his face.

Thorin watched as the hobbit decided which of the options he would choose. He heard Bilbo muttering to himself and saw the way that he chewed his lip as the thought. He felt something entirely unfamiliar that he could find no name for settle into his gut as the hobbit met his gaze with a challenge burning in his eyes.

"I have considered my options," Bilbo said with a tone of finality and his jaw set in determination. When a bit of time had passed and he said nothing more, Thorin began to grow impatient.

"And?" the King prompted. "Which of the alternatives have you chosen?"

"Thorin Oakenshield, after careful consideration," Bilbo began tentatively. He wasn't sure how well this was going to go over with the dwarf. "After careful consideration . . . I have decided . . . and I will accept  _neither_  of you options."

For a moment, Thorin was shocked. He couldn't believe that their timid hobbit had dared to make such a bold choice. But soon he recovered himself and instead of shock, his face settled into a decidedly predatory smile.

"I'm afraid, my dear Halfling, that was  _not_  one of your choices," he said sarcastically. "And since you have decided not to choose, I am afraid that it is my duty to choose for you."

"Perhaps," Bilbo replied, attempting to sound braver than he was. "But to do so you first must catch me." With that he turned to run, forgetting that behind him was a stream with smooth, slippery stones for a bottom. As a result, he slipped and fell into the cool water—soaking both himself and his clothing in the process. He tried to regain his footing, but Thorin was quicker.

The king stepped into the stream with a sigh and grabbed the sodden hobbit under the arms, lifting him and beginning to carry him back to camp.

"What do you think you're doing?!" the startled hobbit squeaked.

"Returning you to the fire so you don't freeze to death," Thorin replied, his tone dry.

"I think not!" Bilbo cried indignantly. "Put me down this instant! I can return to camp on my own two feet."

"And risk you attempting to flee once more?" Thorin snorted in response. "I think not! No, Halfling, I will return you to camp and we will sit by the fire while I arrange your hair."

At his words, Bilbo began to blush. It was bad enough that Thorin wanted to braid his hair, but to be carried into camp like an invalid first. No. The others would never let him hear the end of it. It was this final thought that made him struggle against the dwarven King. Under normal circumstances his struggles might have gone unnoticed, but as it was, one of Bilbo's elbows managed to make contact with one of the places where the Warg's teeth had managed to get through Thorin's armor causing the king to drop the hobbit and grasp his—now throbbing—wound with a groan.

Any logical creature would have fled at this point rather than stay and face the wrath of a wounded Thorin, but Bilbo was no logical creature. Instead of running, he  _approached_ the dwarf who was uttering curses in both Khuzdul and the common tongue.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said as he wavered between reaching out to touch Thorin and a desire to keep his arms attached to his person. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I-I just wanted you to put me down. I am so sorry."

"Will you be quiet?" Thorin snarled. He was more irritated at himself for showing his pain that he was at the hobbit for causing it. "I am fine. Let us return to camp."

"No," Bilbo replied stubbornly. He knew that he had hurt Thorin and perhaps reopened the wounds that had just begun to heal from the battle with the orcs.

"No?" Thorin asked raising an eyebrow at the Halfling. He had to admit that he was impressed with the side that Bilbo had been showing lately. Even so, he was irritated. He almost missed the Bilbo Baggins that had fainted at the prospect of adventure, even if he was intrigued by the one that would stand defiantly in his way.

"No," Bilbo repeated firmly. "I will not return to camp until you allow me to look at your wounds and make sure that they haven't reopened."

"That will never happen," Thorin snapped. It had worked well in the past and he figured that if he allowed his temper to show the hobbit would cave and allow the matter to slide. He hadn't even allowed the others to see the marks left on his body by his stupid decision to charge The Defiler and had borne the pain as a reminder of what could happen when he allowed his heart to rule over his head.

"Then I, at least, will be passing the night here," Bilbo said sitting down in the middle of the path before his shivering caused him to fall there without it being of his choice.

"You will die of cold," Thorin replied in a harsh voice. He hadn't missed the shivers that were already beginning to rack the smaller form of the hobbit. They needed to return to the warmth offered by the fire and dry clothes or the hobbit would at the very least fall ill. Thorin could not allow it to happen just because of his stubborn pride.

"Perhaps," Bilbo replied with a shrug, though his casual affect was destroyed by the chattering of his teeth. His tone infuriated Thorin, it sounded as though he did not care about what happened to him. A sudden image of Bilbo charging into the fray to stop the orc from beheading him rose into Thorin's mind. It was then that he realized that for some strange reason the hobbit cared more for Thorin's wellbeing than his own. He sighed at the realization.

"Bilbo," he said quietly. "No. Do not make me make this choice." At his words an idea came to Bilbo. There was one way to get Thorin to agree. It was obvious that he cared more for Bilbo's continued heath than he cared for his own. This was something that Bilbo could play to his advantage.

"I'll make a deal with you," Bilbo offered. Thorin's eyebrow raised once more in acknowledgement of the idea but not acceptance of the terms. "You want to do something to me that I find altogether distasteful; I want to do the same to you. If you will allow me to examine your wounds," here the hobbit had to pause before he could continue. "I will allow you to do as you see fit with my hair."

The dwarf's eyes widened at the terms. He hadn't known that the hobbit could be so devious. He was learning more about the smallest member of the company every passing moment.

"I do not need your permission, Halfling," Thorin reminded Bilbo doing his best to sound regal and condescending to make up for his surprise.

"That may be true normally," Bilbo replied enjoying this battle of wits with Thorin despite himself. "However, you are in no condition to force me into anything tonight." At his last words, the dwarf King's eyes narrowed dangerously and Bilbo found himself wondering if he may have pushed things too far. Eventually Thorin's face softened and he sighed.

"You may be right," he said with a sigh. "And I suppose it would cause no trouble with the others if I allow you to check my wounds. They would never believe that I would allow something like this to happen." With another sigh he removed his coat and hung it over a nearby bush before grasped the end of his armored shirt and removed it as well.

Bilbo felt agitation and a bit of shame well within him as he saw the Thorin's undershirt was stained with both old and fresh blood where the warg had bitten him. He had been right about the wounds reopening.

"Did you even look at them?" Bilbo asked as he attempted to help Thorin remove his undershirt which was stuck to his skin over the wounds by the dried blood.

"Of course!" Thorin snapped. "I examined them that night and determined that they would not be the death of me."

"Did you treat them?" Bilbo asked looking down in an attempt to cover up his grimace at the molted skin that was revealed as Thorin's shirt came free. "Or did you simply leave them to their own devices."

"Halfling," Thorin said in a warning tone attempting to ignore the feelings that rose within him at the hobbit's gentle touch. "I have treated more than my share of battle wounds. I do not need your commentary on my skills." Bilbo glared up at the dwarf a blush covering his cheeks as he was reminded, yet again, that he had no skills that were useful on this quest.

In the end the wounds were not as bad as Bilbo had expected from Thorin's reaction. There was quite a bit of bruising, and a couple of punctures, but no gaping wounds. Even so, the one that Bilbo had managed to hit with his elbow was bleeding and needed a bandage. He knew that Thorin would never allow him to return to camp to fetch one so with a mournful glance at his already ruined waistcoat, he removed it and ripped the fabric to create a bandage.

The King's eyes widened at the action. The hobbit had shown himself to be ridiculously attached to that particular article of clothing, refusing to throw it away even once his buttons had been lost in the escape from the Goblin kingdom. This was entirely unexpected. As was the way he jumped when the hobbit pressed the piece of cloth to the wound with one hand while his other arm encircled the dwarf's torso to wrap the tie to hold the bandage in place.

Once he was done with his task, Bilbo continued to examine Thorin to make sure that he had not missed a wound—or so he told himself. Eventually he decided that he could excuse his staring no longer.

"Well," he said clearing his throat. "I suppose that should do it." Thorin said nothing but nodded and retrieved his clothing from where he had laid it moments before. Once he was dressed, he looked expectantly at the hobbit and gestured towards camp with a nod. With a sigh, Bilbo turned and began walking.

"So . . . you'll be borrowing one of Fíli's knives when we get back, then?" Bilbo asked conversationally. In response Thorin laughed. Bilbo smiled in response and decided that he needed to do whatever it took to hear that sound more often.

"I think not, Master Hobbit," Thorin said. Bilbo felt his shoulders droop in response. He should have known that Thorin would never have let him off easily after he forced the other to let him treat his wounds. "You said that I could do as I see fit. And you were correct when you said that a knife is not an appropriate implement to cut hair. If you were to sneeze, I could easily take off one of your ears. What I have in mind has far less risk."

No sooner had Thorin finished speaking than they entered the camp. The others looked up at their entry and their expressions immediately shifted into curiosity as they took in Bilbo's wet state and lack of waistcoat and Thorin's self-satisfied smirk. Even though they said nothing, their curiosity only deepened when Thorin sat down on a log beside the fire and looked at the hobbit expectantly. With a deep sigh, Bilbo sat in front of Thorin and squeezed his eyes closed as though he were expecting a blow rather than for his hair to be touched.

The company could only watch in silent shock as their King's fingers slipped through the hobbit's messy curls before he began to plait them in an intricate pattern. Thorin was braiding Bilbo's hair! And the hobbit was allowing it without a word of protest. The majority exchanged questioning looks as to why Thorin would braid the hobbit's hair and if it was simply a sign of his gratitude for Bilbo having saved his life or if it was something more—though none of them  _dared_  to voice their questions—while Fíli and Kíli exchanged smirks. They had seen this coming for some time. Their Uncle was good at many things. Hiding his feelings from his family was not one of them.

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of so many eyes on him. Noticing his discomfort—having not noticed their glances himself as he was so used to eyes on him—Thorin looked up from his work long enough to see twelve pairs of eyes locked on him and the hobbit.

"Have you nothing better to do than stare?" Thorin demanded. At his words the others busied themselves with trivial things that might keep them somewhat occupied until Thorin was done. Even so, they continued to sneak glances at the pair, surprised by how relaxed both of them seemed despite the awkwardness of the situation. One thing was certain: tomorrow Bilbo had some explaining to do—out of earshot of Thorin, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the newest chapter! I would LOVE to hear what you thought of it!


	4. Uncomfortable Questions and Small Victories

After an eternity, in Bilbo's mind, Thorin had finally managed to arrange his hair to his satisfaction and clamped the last of the twin braids on either side of Bilbo's face with a small silver clamp. He placed his hands on the hobbit's shoulders and examined his work before he nodded his approval. He smiled lightly as Bilbo reached up tentatively to touch one of the braids.

The hobbit didn't know much about braiding—even among the women of the Shire it was not so much an art form as a functional thing—but even he could tell that the braids he now wore required skill and practice. Hobbits had sensitive fingers, but even so he was unable to feel how many strands there were, let alone discern the pattern. Even though he was still fearful of what the next day would hold, he  _was_ glad that his hair was out of his eyes.

"Thank you," he said knowing from the shocked expressions on the faces of the others that Thorin had just done something entirely unprecedented, though he wasn't entirely sure what it was. Even if he wasn't pleased to be decked out in braids, he knew that he should thank the King for his kindness.

In response Thorin simply nodded and moved to where he had already laid out his bedroll for the night. Bilbo, too, wished to move to a less central location, but as his clothing was still soaked he resigned himself to stay near the fire at least for now. And if, every so often, his hands strayed to his braids and he smiled as he remembered the feeling of the dwarf's fingers against his scalp, he didn't seem to notice.

Just because he did not, it didn't mean that others were also oblivious.

"That was an interesting choice, Uncle," Fíli said sitting next to Thorin who was still looking at the hobbit from the shadows.

"What of it?" Thorin replied. He knew that  _someone_  was bound to mention the significance of the braid he had done and had an excuse ready.

"Nothing," Fíli replied nonchalantly. "I was just commenting that there are other, less personal, patterns that would have sufficed."

"Really?" Thorin asked raising an eyebrow at his nephew. "Even if that were true, which it is not due to the relative shortness and texture of the Halfling's hair, the braid that I chose is of no consequence to you."

"Perhaps not," Fíli agreed with a sidelong glance at his uncle. "But I will not be the only one who can read the meaning plaited on the hobbit's head. And the meaning that may be inferred . . . " the younger dwarf trailed off suggestively at the end rather than spell it out.

"There is nothing to infer," Thorin growled. He had known that he should have picked a different braid but it was the only one that his mind could think of. Anyway, all that particular pattern signified was that you were trusted and dear to the one who had done it. While it was true that it could be conferred upon a lover, it had other uses. Bilbo had saved his life. It was an acceptable gift, his trust and devotion, in exchange for his life.

"If that is what you wish to believe, Uncle," Fíli said with a smile before he walked off to join the others. As he watched the younger dwarf walk away, Thorin thought about his words and the tone behind them and realized that Fíli, at least, knew something of Thorin's feelings for the Halfling. He would have to watch his nephew closely to make sure that he did not say something that he should not. As he rolled himself up in his blankets he found himself half-heartedly cursing quickly growing hobbit hair and overly observant nephews.

**ooOO88OOoo**

At dawn, the company began to move once more. Even thought they had stopped well after dark the night before, time was short if they were to beat the wargs and orcs to the eves of Mirkwood. The dwarves convictions about interrogating Bilbo about what had taken place between him and Thorin the night before had not changed. But, almost as if he had read their minds, Thorin was sticking obnoxiously close to the hobbit and making questioning him without the King hearing impossible.

In reality, Thorin had not read their minds. Instead he was relying on the fact that he knew his kin well enough to know what they would be up to, especially after the conversation he and Fíli had had the night before. He also knew that they would be reluctant to harass the hobbit under his watchful gaze, if they would be willing to do so at all. Protecting the hobbit from his inquisitive kin also gave him the added benefit of giving him an excuse—to himself as he needed no excuse to the others—to get to know Bilbo a little better.

While Bilbo was flattered by Thorin's new-found interest in him, he was also confused by it. He knew that he had shown kindness to the King the night before—along with a healthy touch of defiance that  _still_  managed to astound him at how well he had gotten away with it—this sudden change in behavior made no sense. Part of him wanted to ask the dwarf for an explanation, but the majority of him was too happy with the way things were going to risk upsetting the truce they had reached.

Even though Thorin did not know it, the company no longer needed to ask the hobbit anything—though they still would if given the chance, Bilbo flustered was too amusing to pass up when the opportunity presented itself. The actions of the King, combined with the braids sported by the hobbit told them everything that they needed to know. And unbeknownst to either of them, bets were quietly being placed as to how much longer they would continue to dance around one another with some even betting that the dance was already over. Even Gandalf participated in this one, saying that they would not make it to the other side of Mirkwood.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Later that evening, as they camped on the very eves of Mirkwood, the chance to talk to Bilbo without his intimidating shadow presented itself. Thorin had left camp to take care of some business of a personal nature and Kíli and Bofur, seeing their chance, descended on the unsuspecting hobbit.

"So," Kíli drawled as he flicked one of the silver fasteners, "how do you feel about braids now that they are in your own hair, Master Hobbit?"

"In all honesty," Bilbo replied touching one of his braids self-consciously, "I feel rather silly."

"Aye," Bofur relied gently elbowing the Halfling. "Is that why you keep touching them then? Or does it have more to do with who did them than what they are?"

"Of-of course not!" Bilbo stuttered. Why would the fact that Thorin had braided his hair make him keep touching them? "That is absurd!"

"Is it?" Kíli asked, the predatory smile in place once more. Bilbo shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, a blush rising in his cheeks as he remembered the same expression being on Thorin's face the night before.

"So, tell us, how did Uncle convince you to allow him to braid your hair?" Fíli asked taking mercy on the poor flustered hobbit. It was unfair of them to confront him with feelings that had not even been said to the one they were directed at. They should not be told about them before Thorin himself.

"Yes," Bofur called latching onto the new subject happily. "Did he hold you under the stream until you consented?"

"No," Bilbo replied with a smile his eyes locking with the startled blue eyes of Thorin over Bofur's shoulder. He could see the fear and the silent plea there. Thorin did not want the others to know what had happened the night before and Bilbo intended to honor his wishes, even if he had no way to tell the dwarf.

"Was it at sword-point then?" Dwalin asked, joining the conversation. While he couldn't see his king threatening the hobbit at sword-point over something like this, he could not imagine another way that the hobbit would have consented to be braided.

"No!" Bilbo squeaked. He hadn't thought about that happening and was infinitely glad that Thorin had not decided to do that! He couldn't imagine how frightened he would be if Thorin actually showed any sign of true aggression towards him.

"Nothing like that!" Bilbo said figuring that he would tell them most of what had happened before their speculations got any wilder. "He mentioned that my hair was getting long and we discussed it and decided that the easiest way to fix the problem was to braid it back—which I do not know how to do so he offered to do it for me. Nothing more."

"Oh," Kíli grumbled, his shoulders dropping in disappointment, a sentiment that was shared by the others. They had all been hoping that the story was more interesting than that.

"But how did you get wet?" Kíli demanded seizing on the only other potential for an interesting story. There was still a chance that it might be salvaged for the amusement of the company.

"I fell in the stream while I was washing," Bilbo lied with a shrug. He hated telling that lie, especially since it made him look like a fool but the truth was worse and would lead to having to explain how he had escaped Thorin's clutches the night before which would lead to something he was not going to share.

"You fell in?" Balin asked incredulously. "How did you manage that, laddie?"

"I was startled," Bilbo replied as though it explained everything.

"And your waistcoat?" Fíli asked. There was  _no_  way there was a simple explanation for that. Even though he wasn't sure he wanted to know what had led up to Bilbo losing an article of clothing while he was alone in the woods with Thorin, he had to ask.

"I persuaded him to part with the tattered thing," Thorin said evenly as he walked into the ring of firelight. The others shifted uncomfortably at his entry. They felt guilty for interrogating the hobbit—especially now that it had been proven that nothing had happened between them while they were away from the group. When Thorin opened his mouth again, the flinched slightly waiting for the tirade that they knew was to come. None of them expected his next words.

"What do you say to a little music?" he asked. "It has been some time since we last played and will be sometime before we are out of the forest, which we managed to reach safely. We should celebrate this small victory."

A few of the company surreptitiously glanced at the hobbit as they retrieved their instruments from their packs. There was more to the story of what had happened at the stream than he was telling. Thorin did not celebrate small victories. For him it was all or none. Perhaps there  _was_  more truth behind Bilbo's missing clothing and Thorin's choice of braid than they had actually thought. And more than either of them were telling.

Bilbo sighed gratefully at Thorin's distraction. He was not a particularly good liar and they had noticed every possible hole in his story. He was also pleased by the method of distraction. It had been a long time since the dwarves had made music and, though he had never told them, he loved the music of the dwarves. They played more skillfully than any hobbit he had ever heard and the melodies they wove were more intricate for their skill and also more beautiful. He smiled contently as the songs they sang washed over him, even though he could not understand some of them.

He was not sure how long the music had stopped before he opened his eyes and found fourteen pairs of eyes staring at him expectantly. Blinking owlishly he realized that someone must have asked him something that he had not heard.

"I-I'm sorry," Bilbo said. "What was the question?"

"I said that it would only be fair for you to gift us with a song, as we have sung many for you." Thorin replied looking at the hobbit with an unreadable gaze. "If you will."

"I . . . that is. . ." Bilbo began. He was flustered by the request and the way that Thorin raised an eyebrow at his answer was not helping matters. "Oh! If I must. Just remember, you requested this."

He thought a moment, mumbling to himself as he thought of songs only to reject them a second later. Eventually, he had it. It was an old one, a ballad of sorts about the Took who had taken a fairy wife and their lives together. He didn't know why he had chosen  _that_  particular song, but it seemed appropriate somehow. Once it was decided, he began to sing. Initially he felt extremely uncomfortable due to the fact that his voice was so much higher pitched and less sure than the deep, confident timbre of the dwarves. But after he had sung through the first verse and they had caught the melody, they joined in with their instruments as they did not know the words. At the accompaniment, Bilbo grew bolder and began to smile as he sang.

By the end, he was belting the ballad, regretting that he had chosen such a long song as he had not sang in ages and his throat was beginning to protest the continual use. It was with a sigh of relief that he sang the last line.

"Not bad, Master Halfling," Thorin said with a smile and a nod of appreciation. "I only have one complaint. Everything we sang of was the truth and you return it with a fairy tale."

"As far as I know, it is true," Bilbo defended his choice of song. "Family history holds that a Took once took a fairy wife and that is why they have unhobbitlike tendencies. In fact, my great-grand-uncle, Bullroarer Took was large enough to ride a horse."

"So you might be related to a fairy?" Kíli asked, his disbelief evident in his words while he also thought that that might just explain a few things about their burglar that could not be explained any other way—like how he had managed to sneak past Balin while he was on guard.

"Well . . ." Bilbo said slowly as though he had never before considered that he might have a little fairy blood in him. "My mother was a Took . . . so . . . well I suppose that it  _is_  possible. I  _am_  on a quest with thirteen dwarves to retake a mountain from a dragon. That is most unhobbitlike." At the reminded of their quest and the dwarves sobered.

"One more song before bed," Thorin said before striking the first chords of the song that they had played in Bilbo's hobbit hole what seemed like a lifetime ago. The others joined in quickly and once more, Bilbo's heart went out to them for the loss of their homeland and their friends and family as the beautiful yet haunting melody filled the camp. As the final note hung in the air, Bilbo wished that they would have ended on a happier song. He feared that the darkness of MIrkwood would be more than enough without the mental images the song conjured.

As he lay on his bedroll, he knew that that night he would dream of great deeds and mountain halls before the fall of the dwarf kingdom, just as he had the night before he left Bag End. But he was wrong. It was not the past he dreamed of, but rather the present. That night, he dreamt of blue eyes and dark hair and the soft expressions he had seen on the face of a particular dwarf king in the past two days. When morning came, Bilbo was sad to see the dawn. For the first time in his life, but not the last, he felt that the night had not been long enough.


	5. Bets, Log Books and Sounds in the Forest

The next morning, as they prepared to enter the forest, Gandalf announced that he would be leaving them. Despite their protests, curses and beseeching words, he would not be persuaded to stay.

"However this does not mean that I am out of the pool," he said in an undertone to Balin while Thorin was otherwise occupied seething about useless wizards to whomever would listen. "When they get together in Mirkwood I still expect my share."

"You are really so sure that they will?" Balin asked as he watched Bilbo scamper out of the way as the pacing king stepped right over the bedding the hobbit was trying to roll up.

"My dear dwarf," Gandalf replied wih a twinkle in his blue eyes, "like your brother, I do not enter into wagers I do not know I will win." With that, Gandalf walked to where Bilbo was standing having just completed rolling up his bedding.

"Mr. Baggins I have a task for you," Gandalf said with a wink at Dwalin—who had seconded the wizard's bet—over Bilbo's head."As I cannot be with you, and you have the most sense of the remaining company, I will charge you with keeping a detailed  _daily_  log of your travels through Mirkwood. I expect an entry for every day, regardless of the circumstances."

As he handed the book to Bilbo, the wizard heard distinct mutterings about "cheating" and "not fair" from the dwarves involved in the bet. It was with a wide smile that he wished them luck in their adventures and rode away. As soon as he was gone, they entered the forest.

From the rear of the company, Dwalin chuckled quietly to himself. He had known that the wizard was wise, but he hadn't realized just how devious he was. With the bit of help Gandalf had given him they would win this bet for certain.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Mirkwood turned out to be every bit as depressing as its name implied. The very air of the forest seemed to press in on the company as they walked—the ponies having been sent back to Beorn as promised despite the grumbling that had accompanied it—and even the more seasoned travelers among them felt as though they were being watched.

That could have had more to do with the dimness of the forest and the strange acoustic properties of being surrounded by trees and having no solid road under their feet, but they could not be sure that there were not creatures waiting in the woods to spring out and grab and unsuspecting dwarf or hobbit to make a meal of. At every sound in the shadows of the woods, the group crowded together and remained that way for some time.

Somehow, when this happened Bilbo always found himself right next to Thorin, regardless of who he had been walking next to only moments before. The first few times, he thought nothing of it, but as it continued happening, and he watched Bombur execute an impressively speedy maneuver to get out of the way, he became suspicious that they were doing it on purpose.

After some time had passed without one of these clusterings, the group began to slowly drift apart. They were now the most spread out that they had been since they entered the forest. It was then that Bilbo knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was some kind of a plot afoot. He had just heard the muted snap of a twig from behind and turned to see Kíli at the tail end of the company with a broken stick in his hand and his arm back as he prepared to throw it into the woods. The dwarf smiled sheepishly before he dropped the stick on the path and rejoined the company.

After that, the noises in the woods were much farther apart and the journey was a little less nerve-wracking. Bilbo couldn't understand what possible purpose Kíli could have had for forcing them to group together, or why the others were helping him in attempting to make sure that he and Thorin were together when they did. He wondered if they were doing it to embarrass him more for allowing the King to braid his hair or if they had a more devious plan in mind. Surely they didn't  _know_?

Thorin, however, had no doubt in his mind as to the intentions of the others. He knew—even though none of them had actually  _said_  anything—that they knew of his feelings for the hobbit and that they were doing everything that they could in the dark dankness of Mirkwood to get them together.  _Why_ they wanted their King to pair off with a hobbit was beyond him, and while he appreciated their acceptance of his feelings, he did not need their assistance in this matter. The hobbit did not share his feelings and he did not need them to force him to accept it.

Not long after that, Thorin felt a small body collide with his back with a startled squeak. He sighed and turned to steady the burglar before he fell.

"I'm sorry, Thorin!" Bilbo was apologizing. "I-I must have tripped over a root. I didn't see one but it must have been there. Thorin ignored his apology and looked out at the company attempting to see who was actually at fault. Kíli was standing nearby and would not meet his gaze as he looked into the forest trying to look entirely too innocent.

"Kíli, that is enough of this," Thorin said suddenly causing the younger dwarf to jump and smile sheepishly at his uncle. He had been caught. There was nothing else to do. "In fact, that is enough of this from  _all_  of you." With that said, Thorin turned and walked down the path once more, leaving twelve embarrassed dwarves—they hadn't realized they were being so obvious—and one  _very_  confused hobbit in his wake.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After they were admonished by Thorin, the dwarves stopped their pranking and the remainder of the days march went rather smoothly. They stopped when they could no longer see well enough to travel even though they knew that it was not yet dusk outside the forest. Though they searched, they could find no wood at the edges of the path that would burn and they had no desire to search deeper in. Beorn had cautioned them against leaving the path and they had no intention to do so.

Because of this, it was a rather cheerless company that sat around the place a fire  _should_  have been and ate the rations that Beorn had given them cold rather than having a warm meal. The hobbit was particularly distressed by the lack of a fire. He still had Gandalf's log to complete and he couldn't see to do it. He also wasn't sure exactly what Gandalf meant by _detailed._ Did he want to know who had said what when, or only that all of them were alive, there was no fire and they had made good time (or so Bilbo thought since he had no idea how far they had walked that day). He moved to run his hands through his bangs in frustration, but was stopped by the braids he still wore.

Discarding that idea, he leaned closer to the log book and squinted his eyes, as though that would help him to see the words he was about to write better.  _Oh well,_  he thought with a smile.  _Gandalf is a wizard, he can probably read blind hobbit scrawl_. With another sigh, he began to write the first word on the page.

"Poor Halfling," Dwalin muttered to Thorin from across the campsite. He had been watching for the hobbit to begin writing and knew that now was his chance.

"What about the Halfling?" Thorin barked. He had been thinking a lot about poor Bilbo. Especially about the fact that it was he who had to take the brunt of the dwarves' teasings about Thorin's emotions since they would not tease the King himself. He was halfway worried that he may have said something while he was thinking that Dwalin may have heard.

"Can't see to do his job," Dwalin said pointing to where Bilbo sat hunched over and squinting at the log book Gandalf had given him. "He'll ruin his eyes at this rate. A blind burglar will do us no good."

"No," Thorin agreed before he sighed deeply. He knew that the hobbit would only draw more harassment for his actions, but he could not sit by and watch him struggle if he could do anything about it. "I had best go help him before he injures himself."

Dwalin smirked as Thorin went and took the book from Bilbo before sitting down beside him and beginning to write himself. This would be entirely too easy. He would have to remember to thank Gandalf for that particular idea. It would make them rich yet.

"That's just wrong, you know?" Fíli said from beside him. "We should let them come together in their own time."

"You're just worried that you will lose the bet," Dwalin said with a chuckle. He knew how much the lad hated losing.

"No," Fíli replied. "If you remember, I did not take part in this one. It felt wrong to gamble about my uncle's love life. They will either end up together or not. Our meddling in their affairs . . . no good will come of it."

"Lad," Dwalin said gently, clapping Fíli on the shoulder. "The two of them should be together. They share an attraction, have for most of the quest, but they are both too stubborn to admit it and too dense to see that their attraction is shared. All we are doing is giving them a nudge in the right direction. Your uncle is happier than I have seen him since the fall of Erebor. Should we not do what we can to get them to realize it?"

"I hope you're right," Fíli replied watching the way his uncle almost leaned in to the hobbit as they sat together on the ground. He did look more relaxed, but there was also a tension around his eyes that was different than the one that was usually present. He only hoped that his uncle would not lash out at the hobbit for his own feelings in fear of them and hurt Bilbo in the process. He hated to think of what the hobbit would do or say in that situation . . . but it wouldn't be good.

"And I hope you know what you're doing," Fíli continued thinking more about that last outcome. "Uncle and Bilbo are  _both_  more unpredictable than dragons. This may blow up in all our faces before it is settled."

"Perhaps," Dwalin agreed. "However I do not think that will be the case."


	6. Small Talk and Awkwardness

Despite Dwalin's certainty that one more act of kindness from the king would be all that it took to push the feelings they had for one another into the open, Thorin's writing the log for Bilbo did not lead to a declaration of feelings. He was slightly disappointed about that. What he had told Kíli was true: those two were entirely too stubborn for their own good. Even so, it was a small victory when Thorin moved his bedding to a location nearer than he ever had to the hobbit's. The edges were practically touching. Even if it wasn't the declaration Dwalin had been hoping for, it was something.

Kíli, too, noticed his uncle's move across the campsite and shared a glance with Dwalin. He knew that it wouldn't take much to get that little distance between them to disappear. If he were to startle the hobbit and if Thorin was mostly asleep, Kíli knew that would be all it would take for his uncle to attempt to comfort the hobbit and in the act reveal his feelings. Just a little noise from the forest once they were nearly asleep . . .

"Kíli, don't," he heard Fíli say from beside him. He could hear the displeasure in his brother's voice and knew exactly what Fíli was talking about.

"Don't do what, Fíli?" the younger dwarf asked innocently. He hadn't actually done anything yet and all his brother had was a suspicion. He could still get away with it. And if Fíli didn't expressly forbid it, there was no reason he couldn't still create a noise like he had been earlier.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Fíli replied with a sigh. "I know you. I'm not exactly sure what it is that you are planning, but I know that you are planning to do  _something_  to force Uncle and Bilbo to admit their feelings. And I'm saying don't do it."

"I wasn't—" Kíli began before he was silenced by a look from his brother. It was so much like the look their mother constantly leveled at them that he had a sudden fierce desire to see her. It also told him that his brother actually meant what he was saying. This was not a request he could ignore.

"It won't hurt anything," the dark-haired dwarf said looking at his elder brother with a plea for understanding in his eyes. "I'm helping."

"No," Fíli replied his tone hard. He hated being stern with his brother, but sometime he had to. And this was one of those times. This wasn't something he could wait for his uncle to take care of. "You are not helping. You are meddling. How do you think Uncle will react if Bilbo gets injured due to one of your pranks? Or if either of them ends up saying something they don't mean because they get backed into a corner? You have to stop this. Uncle already told you to stop. Just let them be.

"Odds are you will still collect anyway," the elder continued, trying to think of another way to stop his brother's meddling. And even if he found this particular bet distasteful it didn't mean that Kíli had agreed. "Didn't you say that they would become a couple after Mirkwood but before Erebor? Why do you try to accelerate a relationship that you need to move slowly for you to win?"

"I just want them to be happy," Kíli replied in a quiet voice. He hadn't thought about it that way. He had never realized that he might end up destroying their relationship before it began. As to the money, he had almost forgotten it in his amusement at the reactions Bilbo and his uncle had to one another.

"They will be," Fíli said grasping the back of Kíli's head and placing his forehead against his brother's to show that he wasn't actually angry with him. "It may take them time. Mahal knows they are both stubborn and dense, but they will come together in their own time. We just need to leave them to it. Can you do that, little brother?" Kíli sighed and nodded. He could quit trying to play matchmaker.

"Does this mean that I have to quit teasing Bilbo?" the younger of the two asked in a harassed tone. He hoped not—the hobbit's reactions were endlessly amusing, as was watching his uncle try not to say anything about it because even if he didn't like them teasing the hobbit, since they treated each other the same way and were not actually singling him out, there was nothing he could say—but he would cease his harassment of the hobbit if his brother asked it.

"Of course not!" Fíli replied as though affronted that his brother would suggest such a thing. "He is a member of this company and that obligates us to tease him a bit. All we have to do it stop trying to get him and Uncle to express themselves. In fact, I have an idea for a prank," Fíli whispered conspiratorially leaning in to speak into his brother's ear with a nervous glance around to make sure that no one else was paying attention. As he spoke, he could feel the younger dwarf quivering with suppressed laughter.

"My dear brother," Kíli replied, a wide smile splitting his face as he pulled back to look the older dwarf in the face, "that is brilliant. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," the other agreed with a nod and a similar smile on his own face. He knew that they would probably be scolded for what they had planned, but it would be worth it.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The morning dawned slowly, and even once it did the light was still muted by the trees above. The entire company was covered by the heavy dew that had fallen the night before when they were roused from their sleep. Even though it was hours after dawn, mist still hovered above the ground. If it weren't for the fact that the path was treeless, they would have had to wait until the fog had burned off before they could move, but as it was, they stumbled on as best they could.

If possible, the forest was even more dank and depressing than it had been the day before. It could have had to do with the mist, or it could have had to do with the spider webs that were beginning to appear between the trees. Either way, the start to the day was oppressive enough that even Fíli and Kíli realized that now was  _not_  the time for their prank—if they wanted to live. There was no need to force them to cluster together that day; they were doing it without prompting. The forest seemed to be pulling out all the tricks it had to get them to turn back.

Everyone jumped at the sound of something large moving through the underbrush to the right of the path. They couldn't see what it was, and that scared them even more. For while it is true that the dwarves were warriors, even the best warrior knew that it only took one moment of surprise, one second where the enemy could attack you unawares, to end you, no matter your skill. All these moving things in the forest had the advantage. They lived here and were used to the atmosphere while the dwarves—and Bilbo—were not. If the things chose to attack they could do some serious damage before the dwarves could even respond. Without the command being given, the party sped up.

Bilbo could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He wasn't made for this . . . this tension. He knew that the danger to him was actually less here—surrounded by dwarves—that it had been in Gollum's cave, but at least then he had been able to see his enemy. Not like in this blasted forest. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. When there was a smaller sound off to the left—so similar to the ones that Kíli had been making the day before—he turned to glare at the younger dwarf. He almost wished that if the dwarf wanted him dead Kíli would just stick an arrow in him and be done with it.

"I didn't do it," the dwarf replied, his eyes wide and his hands aloft to show their emptiness. He was shocked by the hostility that had been in that gaze. He had always though Bilbo to be a soft thing, brave in a pinch, but not one to attack without being attacked first himself. But that look . . . in all honesty it had scared him more than any of the glares his uncle had _ever_  sent his way. The only thing that might have topped it would have been his mother the time he had trimmed Fíli's beard out of jealousy. He had thought she was going to murder him right there.

"Didn't do what?" Thorin demanded from the head of the company. He had no idea what Kíli had been accused of, but he also didn't doubt that the lad  _had_  probably done whatever it was. He was too young for this quest. Thorin had known it before they left Ered Luin. Dís had begged him to forbid the boy from coming, but he knew that he and Fíli were better as a pair and would help to keep the other safe and he had needed Fíli. That had been what had convinced both him and his sister to let her youngest accompany them on this fool's errand. It was times like this that he wished there had been another way. He hated himself for putting his nephew in danger.

"Nothing," Bilbo answered from near Kíli. He wasn't sure what the emotion had been in Thorin's tone, but he knew better than to tell his suspicions and force the dwarf to endure the wrath of his uncle. "I was startled is all. He did nothing."

Thorin chuckled in response. He didn't believe the hobbit, but if that was how he wanted to handle it, Thorin would allow it. He remembered what it was like to have friends and to be teased. It had been some time, but he could still remember when he had covered for a younger Balin and Dwalin with his father after they had gotten up to mischief together. His father hadn't believed him either—he could see it in his eyes—but he had let the matter slide. If Bilbo wanted to vouch for Kíli after the youngster had done something to the hobbit . . . well that was his affair, but Thorin knew that he would be keeping a closer eye on his nephew, especially where Bilbo Baggins was concerned.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli and Kíli never got to pull their prank that day. The mist never completely burned off, but as more of it had dissipated, the forest had gotten even spookier. Additionally, after the exchange between Bilbo, Thorin and Kíli, the king had moved more toward the rear of the company and had instructed Fíli to take the lead.

"It'll be good practice," the King had said. Even though they both knew that his goal was not to let Fíli practice leadership in the middle of a forest following a path that had no turns, but rather to separate his nephews so that they could not plot mischief together. In the end, Fíli did as his uncle asked. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. He knew that he could do this. Even so, he was comforted when Dwalin and Glóin came to take positions on either side of him. They were both experienced fighters and if it came down to it he would be glad of their presence at his side.

In the end, it was an unnecessary gesture. Nothing came at them from the woods and the rest of the day passed in relative ease. There had been some tension, both from the creepiness of the forest and the fact that Thorin had attempted to make small talk with the burglar and had done so quite poorly. Eventually, under the pressure of so many confused gazes, he had given up and the company had continued the walk in silence. The tension had come not exactly from Thorin's strange behavior, but rather his apparent embarrassment of having tried it.

Even once they stopped for the night Thorin's mood did not improve. He couldn't believe that he had done that. Why had he decided to ask the hobbit  _that_  of all things? "How are you enjoying the quest so far?" What kind of question was that? Thankfully Bilbo had been courteous and had answered it in a civil manner, but had that really been the best thing he could think of to ask? There were many things they could have spoken of—like finding time to actually teach the hobbit to use his letter-opener—and he had decided to make small talk. Even though the others had said nothing, he had seen how they looked at him. He had made a fool of himself.

The King's mood was barely lifted by the fact that they had managed to gather enough dry wood to make a fire that night. It meant that he would not have to complete the halfling's task that night: a thought that both gladdened him and made him sad. For while it meant that he would not have to allow the others to see how her cared for the hobbit, it also meant that he would have no excuse to sit near him that night.

Soon, however, the fire was a non-issue. Having it was worse than not having it had been the night before. It seemed to draw the creatures that lived in the woods and soon their entire camp was surrounded by movement in the shadows. It also had the negative effect of drawing giant black moths that swooped near their heads. The moment dinner was done—nothing fit to eat really since Beorn had given them no meat—Thorin ordered the fire extinguished. He had expected grumbling to accompany his order, but the others—even Bilbo—were more than happy to oblige if it meant getting rid of the interlopers.

Thorin smiled a bit to himself, the hobbit had not been able to finish the log before the fire was extinguished, as he had been helping Bombur to cook since he had more practice with these vegetables. In the dark once more, he was squinting at the page as he had the night before and trying to pick up where he had left off.

"Give me the book, Halfling," Thorin said trying to keep his pleasure at the situation from entering his voice and failing miserably.

"No," Bilbo replied stubbornly. He had mistaken Thorin's pleasure for amusement at Bilbo's inability to do his assigned task. "Gandalf gave it to me to do, and I mean to do it."

"It is not a task you are suited to," Thorin said attempting to keep his tone gentle despite the fact that he was irritated with the stubbornness of the hobbit. He was only trying to help after all.

"And is there any task you think I am suited to?" Bilbo replied angrily. He couldn't believe that Thorin thought him incapable of writing in a book! It was not even difficult if it wasn't for the darkness. It hurt that Thorin didn't think he could do even so simple a task.

Thorin sighed at the hobbit's words. He had made a mess of this. "That is  _not_  what I meant and you know it," Thorin replied, his own tone terse. It was as close as he was going to come to apologizing for his words.

"Do I?" Bilbo demanded. He knew that he was being unreasonable, but he could not help it. He was sick of this forest and the noises and the darkness. And to be reminded in the middle of it all that he did not really have a skill that was useful was enough to anger him.

"You should," Thorin replied. Fond feelings for the hobbit or not, he was not going to be spoken to like a child that had erred. He had done nothing wrong. Bilbo was overreacting.

"Well, I don't." Bilbo replied glaring up at the dwarf even though he wasn't sure that Thorin could see him. He could, and the fierce expression on Bilbo's face caused Thorin to experience a pang of longing so intense that he nearly gasped.

"Fine," Thorin replied his tone more distant than ever in an attempt to cover his desire for the hobbit. "I was only offering to help. But feel free to do it yourself." He stood there with his arms crossed over his chest giving the hobbit the best disdainful look he could muster—even though he knew that the hobbit could not see it.

"I'm waiting," Thorin said when Bilbo had sat there for a time without moving his pen—which was hovering over the lines he had already written. He stared at it a bit more before he sat the pen down on the page with a deep sigh and handed it to the dwarf.

"You're right," Bilbo said in a defeated voice. "I can't do it." Thorin covered Bilbo's hands with his own before taking the book from him.

"Mr. Baggins," Thorin said as he read through what Bilbo had already written to see where he needed to pick up the story, "there is no shame in admitting that you need help. We all do from time to time."

"Even you?" Bilbo asked his voice holding a challenge. Thorin thought about his words for a moment before he smiled.

"Yes," he said gently remembering the kindness Bilbo had shown him at the stream. The delicacy he had shown in tending his wounds and his generosity in sacrificing his waistcoat and then his discreetness in not telling the others. Yes there were times he needed help from the most unexpected source imaginable. "Even me."


	7. Cuddling in the Dark, Heartfelt Conversations and Mischievous Dwarflings

That night, the eyes in the forest that had been present the night before increased tenfold. It was almost as though they resented that the dwarves had dared to light a fire. And that night, the eyes were not alone but were accompanied by rustling in the undergrowth and in the trees above the path. Even thought the company thought they had slept as clustered together as possible the night before, tonight they managed to move even closer forming more of a pile that individual sleeping spaces. Bilbo had managed to secure a central position in the mass but that did little to comfort him because he was especially terrified by the eyes and noises  _above_  the path knowing that they could drop unto them without warning and being in the middle would be of little help in that case.

Even so, he was trying to sleep. He found that he was comforted rather than upset by the warmth of the others sleeping next to him, but that comfort was not enough. There were noises in the forest that refused to stop and were quite terrifying. It never failed, he would close his eyes and be nearly asleep when a sound would come from the forest and startle him awake again. Once the adrenaline began to fade and his eyes began to drift shut once more the cycle would repeat.

About the third time he started awake, there was a groan from behind him and a hand came to rest on his arm. He stiffened knowing that someone was about to tell him to be still and sleep. He wasn't sure who it was, but he knew that all of the dwarves were rather testy when it came to loss of food and sleep—understandably so.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo whispered trying not to wake the others but feeling that he should offer an apology to the dwarf he had woken to try to keep their good will.

"I don't want you apology, hobbit," Thorin muttered from the darkness. Bilbo froze at the sound of the king's voice. It was worse than he had imagined. He had interrupted Thorin's sleep and now the dwarf was irritated with him. And it had to happen just when he was beginning to have more fond feelings than utter contempt for the hobbit—even if they weren't fond enough for said hobbit's tastes.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo offered again his tone quiet but nearly hysterical this time. They were close enough that he felt Thorin sigh at the words. He hadn't meant to startle the hobbit further, but to comfort him. It seemed to him that no matter what he did to try to help Bilbo it had the opposite result. A portion of him mind suggested that perhaps it was a sign that it would be best if he just left the hobbit in peace before that thought was viciously rejected. Leaving the hobbit in peace was not an option.

"You have nothing to apologize for," the king said his voice little more than a low rumble in the darkness. "The things in the woods seem reluctant to enter the path. Now sleep. No harm will come to you." Despite having been woken from sleep, Thorin's voice was almost gentle and, despite himself, Bilbo relaxed at the quiet promise. He listened to the even breathing of the others and tried to match his to theirs finding comfort in the fact that not only did he have his own little sword, but there were also thirteen others to fight if it came down to it. With that realization, Bilbo felt his eyes droop shut. Even though the noises in the woods did not stop, he no longer cared about them. However, he did remain conscious of the fact that Thorin had not yet removed his hand from Bilbo's arm. That was the last thought that crossed his mind before he drifted to sleep.

Thorin sighed as the hobbit's breathing evened out and he relaxed. He knew that what he did next was wrong, but he could not resist the urge to move himself closer to the hobbit. He knew that he would wake before Bilbo and the others the next morning and the neither the hobbit nor the rest of the company need ever know that he had given in to his desires. As wrong as it was to initiate this without Bilbo's consent, he wanted to feel the hobbit against him at least once. Nothing more would come of it, and as much as it shamed him to acknowledge it, he needed this closeness. His shame at his actions was only intensified by the pleasure he felt when Bilbo sighed contentedly and snuggled more tightly against the dwarf. Yes, Thorin knew that what he had done was wrong, but it felt so right that he could not truly regret it. The king's last thought as he drifted to sleep with his nose in Bilbo's curly hair was that he could get used to sleeping like this.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin had been wrong about the order in which they would awake the next morning. The king awoke the next morning to the sound of barely suppressed laughter. Generally, he woke at the first stirrings of movement in the camp, but for some reason he had slept through them and could already smell breakfast being cooked on a relit fire. Thorin stretched slightly and prepared to rise when he felt another arm grasp his own possessively.

Suspicion building within him, Throrin opened his eyes to see which of his nephews had dared to prank him. Instead of the smirking faces of either Fíli or Kíli he was met with the brown curls of the hobbit. Thorin smiled fondly at the back of his head before he remembered  _why_  they were cuddling and the fact that not only had he initiated the contact, but he had been caught. The suppressed laughter made sense now.

"Do you think this is far enough to consider them a couple," someone who sounded suspiciously like Ori asked from behind Thorin.

"Nay," Dwalin replied. "They are both still fully clothed and we would have known if anything more than cuddling had happened. Does cuddling make a couple?"

"Perhaps," Bofur replied warily but with a hint of bawdy humor in his voice. "It is a side effect of coupling."

"But not only found in such a situation," Balin added sagely. "We will have to wait for further proof before anything is final."

With a groan Thorin realized what they were speaking of. The company had  _bet_  on the outcome of his attempts at wooing the burglar. He had to admit that he was surprised not to hear the voices of his nephews; the lads loved to gamble. Their interest in his success suddenly made sense. He shook his head with a wry smile as he wondered who was involved and what they had said. If they had included him in the pool he would have placed his money on it never happening. Not with his lack of skills at wooing a hobbit.

With that last thought came anger that they would dare to gamble about his love life and the idea that it could be their fault that so many of his advances had gone poorly. If they would leave this alone as he had asked them, perhaps he could do better on his own. He fully intended to roll over and tell them these things in Khuzdul just in case he woke Bilbo in his anger, when the hobbit in question moaned and grabbed his arm more tightly before he yawned and stiffened. Even though the dwarf didn't realize it, when Bilbo had moaned, Thorin had unconsciously held him closer.

At the feeling of the arm that he was just gripping tightening around him slightly Bilbo froze. He remembered what had happened the night before and knew that it belonged to Thorin and that the king had just tightened his hold on the hobbit. Knowing that Thorin must still be asleep and not realizing that it was Bilbo who he held, the hobbit tried to think of a way to extract himself from the situation before Thorin woke up and caught him. He turned his head slowly to attempt to see how deeply Thorin was asleep so that he could figure out what he could do without waking him.

He jumped slightly when—instead of seeing a sleeping dwarf—he realized that Thorin was awake. His blue eyes bored into Bilbo and the hobbit suddenly felt very hot and uncomfortable. There was heat, desire and a softness in that gaze that Bilbo had never seen directed at him before by anyone, let alone the Dwarf King.

"Um . . . I suppose . . . I mean . . . ugh . . . I'm—" Bilbo stuttered trying to find the right words to say. Finding the right words had never been easy around the Dwarf King, but with the way he was looking at him now, Bilbo's brains may as well have turned to mush and run out his ears for all the good they were doing him. Thorin smiled at him and Bilbo lost any coherency he may have had.

"Did you sleep well?" Thorin asked, the question simple but his eyes showing that it contained more meaning that the words themselves possessed. It was almost a request to do the same thing that night.

"I—I did," Bilbo managed to gasp out. Though how he managed around his heart which seemed to have taken residence in his throat he never knew. "Thank you. Did—did you?"

"Yes," Thorin hummed in contentment as he gently removed his arm from the hobbit's now bruising grasp. "I did." With these last words, the dwarf stood and began preparing for the day with a hard glance at the rest of the company. The glare a warning about what would happen to them if they said a word about this to the hobbit.

Bilbo did not see the glare, and all he could think of once the happy haze that had come from waking in Thorin's arms passed was that this was going to be the worst day ever. The dwarves had already been teasing him because of his affections for their king—though he thought he had been discrete he knew that they had discovered them somehow—and now . . . he almost wished that he could slip his hand into his pocket and disappear rather than face what was to come but he knew that was not an option. And even though he knew that they would tease him fiercely for what they had just seen, he would gladly endure it. The memory of the look in Thorin's eyes that morning was worth anything these dwarves could dish out.

**ooOO88OOoo**

He need not have feared. With the unspoken—and unspecified—threat from Thorin hanging in the air none of them dared to say anything to the hobbit about the position they had found him in with the king that morning. The look on his face and the shocked stuttering that would follow such a question were not worth the trouble that would also follow it. They turned their attention instead to teasing Kíli about his patchy beard. The company in general was finding it amusing, but Kíli was getting more agitated by the moment.

It wasn't his fault that he was not old enough to grow a decent beard. And beard or no beard he had been prepared to come on this quest with his uncle. That should count for something. They shouldn't continue to tease him for things that he had no control over.

"Leave the lad alone," Thorin said exasperatedly after a bit. He could hear the agitation in his nephew's voice and knew the frustration of a slow development as his own beard had taken longer to come in than was normal. And Dwalin, in particular, had teased him mercilessly. He could still remember his amusement when, just as he was beginning to grow a respectable beard, Dwalin began to go bald—something entirely unheard of in dwarves. And then the tables had turned and Thorin had been the one with the upper hand. No one who had not known him as a lad knew that his beard had been delayed and everyone who saw Dwalin knew that he was abnormal. He suddenly knew how to cheer his nephew.

"Kíli," he called. "Come walk with me for a bit." Kíli eyed his uncle warily but did as he asked. He didn't understand it. It was usually Fíli that Thorin invited to walk with him, though Kíli tended to come along as well and Thorin never said anything, but this time he had called for Kíli, not Fíli. When he reached his uncle, Thorin threw his arm around the shoulders of the younger dwarf and leaned down conspiratorially.

"Don't let what the others said bother you too much," he whispered. "Your beard will eventually come in." He felt as Kíli sighed and his shoulder drooped. Kíli wasn't sure what he had expected, but this was not it. He had heard the same thing from his mother and his brother—both of whom had beautiful beards, but to hear it from his uncle, the dwarf he looked up to and aspired to be like. It was too much for _Thorin_  of all people to offer him empty words of comfort.

"But, Uncle," Kíli whispered brokenly. "I'm seventy-seven. And Fíli has a beard. Has for as long as I can remember almost. I sometimes think that he was  _born_  with a beard."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Thorin whispered his heart going out to his nephew. He hadn't realized that this bothered Kíli so much. If he had realized it he would have told the boy sooner. Even so, he waited for Kíli to nod before he continued. "I was  _eighty_  before I had anything more than a patchy beard like yours."

"You?" Kíli asked, looking up at his uncle with hope and joy in his eyes. He wasn't sure that he believed it. Thorin had a magnificent beard now. Was it actually possible that Kíli might too?

"Yes. Me," Thorin replied with a gentle smile for his nephew. "And Dwalin teased me relentlessly about it until I did. But I eventually grew a beard, and a respectable one at that. Your time will come. And maybe, if you're lucky, the dwarves who tease you about your beard will go bald as well."

Even though no one had heard the exchange between the two, Dwalin and Balin could guess what it had been about if the looks that Kíli was sending towards both Thorin and Dwalin were any hint. The two brothers shared a smile as they remembered a younger Thorin—who did look a lot like a Kíli except for the eyes—with his hands on his hips and murder flashing in his eyes as they teased him about his beard. He wouldn't really have killed them, but if looks and words could do the job the two of them knew that they would not be standing where they were now.

It had actually begun before they left Erebor, when Balin, despite being seventeen younger than the Prince had already begun to get a beard while Thorin had nothing. Things had truly escalated after they had left Erebor and Dwalin managed to grow a full beard before Thorin, despite being twenty-six years his junior. They had always harbored suspicions that Thorin had had something to do with Dwalin going bald and Balin's premature graying, though they had never been able to link the king to it and he had never confessed. All they would say is that it was a strange coincidence that the same summer Thorin's beard grew in Balin went grey at sixty-three and Dwalin bald at fifty-four. A very strange coincidence indeed.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As the day went on, the morale of the company was higher than it had been since they entered the forest. This fact probably had more to do with the fact that Kíli had brought down a couple of squirrels than anything else. With the prospect of meat that night, their spirits lifted and they began to sing as they walked. Even without their instruments, the song was beautiful—their voices weaving through one another to create intricate tapestries in Bilbo's mind.

It was while everyone else was absorbed in either making or listening to music that Fíli and Kíli decided the time had come to begin their prank. Originally they had intended Bilbo to be the main target, but now, they had shifted their focus to more dangerous prey: Dwalin. The idea of pranking someone in such tense conditions—especially someone like Dwalin—was a daunting task, and they felt that it would be well worth the challenge. If they could pull a prank here, even the exploits of their uncle could not top that.

With Bilbo the plan had been simple. They had intended to replace his pipeweed with an aromatic herb that tasted foul but would cause him no harm if smoked. Dwalin . . . he presented a trickier mark. There were many things the brothers could do to the older dwarf, but many of them would not be funny but rather tasteless. They did not want to hurt or anger him, only to embarrass him for the amusement of others. They rapidly decided that they would prank Bilbo and the other pipesmokers for the time being and save the assault on Dwalin for a later date after they had time to plan further.

It turned out that replacing Bilbo's pipeweed was a more difficult task than either of the brothers had though it would be. The hobbit refused to relinquish his pack for any reason. It was rapidly becoming frustrating. They had figured that Bilbo would hand it over the first time the offered, but he resolutely refused to let either of the brothers have it. They couldn't understand it. He didn't seem wary of a prank why else would he not let them have his pack especially when it was apparent that he wanted to let them have it.

It was Fíli that figured it out. He noticed that every time one of them asked for it Bilbo's eyes would fill with longing, but then they would flick to Thorin's back before hardening once more as he refused the offer. He placed his hand on Kíli's arm and slowed their pace to let Bilbo get ahead of them before he leaned down and whispered in his brother's ear.

Kíli's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected that Bilbo would be a difficult mark because he was trying to prove himself to their uncle. It was with a bit of disappointment that they move on to the other members of the company to attempt to get their pipeweed. They set their sights on Bofur next. He was entirely too easy. When the offered to carry his pack, he gratefully shrugged out of it and handed it to Fíli who made the switch while Kíli distracted him with talk of the bets.

After a bit of time had passed, they returned his pack and he thanked them for allowing him a bit of a rest promising that he would do the same if they asked it of him. Nori's stash was a little more difficult for them to procure. Since he had been the one to start teasing Kíli about his beard, he was—understandably—nervous about trusting the brothers. At his skepticism, the brothers did not press him, but rather decided that they would delay the next stage of the prank until they stopped for lunch and the packs were placed into a pile.

It was then that Fíli distracted the group with a story of some mischief he and Kíli had gotten into that the others hadn't heard about—other than Thorin who still listened with a small smile on his face at the memory—while Kíli made the switch. He debated briefly about whether or not to include his uncle in the prank and, with a grimace, decided that he might as well. It had been some time since they pulled a prank on Thorin and he seemed to be in fairly good spirits lately.

As soon as he finished switching Thorin's supply he realized that he may have made a mistake, but it was too late to correct it for at that moment his uncle walked over and picked up his pack before motioning with his head for the others to do the same and beginning to walk down the path once more. Kíli looked at Fíli with wide, panicked eyes. Fíli said nothing, but followed his brother's glance to their uncle's retreating back.

"No," Fíli breathed realizing what had his brother looking like he had seen a ghost. "Kíli, tell me you didn't." Kíli didn't reply but looked at his brother helplessly. He still didn't know what had possessed him to do it. True, their uncle had been in a good mood lately, but this would surely ruin that.

"We'll just have to get it back," Fíli breathed feeling his limbs go numb. "Somehow we will have to get it back." He wasn't sure how it could be accomplished, but he knew that Kíli's mistake was . . . he couldn't find a word to describe just how bad of a decision his little brother had made, but he knew that if Thorin smoked that herb, the devastation wrought by Smaug would be miniscule in comparison to what his uncle would do to them.

**ooOO88OOoo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Will the boys be able to get it back before Thorin finds out? And what will he do if they can't? Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> That's all for now folks. As always, thank you for reading and I would love to know what you thought about it (even if you hated it) so please leave me a review if you have the time and/or inclination.
> 
> Stickdonkeys


	8. Under the Effects of Aromatic Pipeweed

Fíli and Kíli were frantic by the time the company stopped that night. They had done everything they could think of to get their uncle's pack and switch his pipe weed back, but every attempt had been in vain. Thorin, having seen them attempt to take the packs of a few others, knew that they were up to something and while he doubted that they would be  _foolish_  enough to include him in their prank, their shiftiness and air of desperation made him wary. Wary enough that once he called a halt he kept his pack next to him rather than place it in the pile with the rest.

"Uncle," Fíli said tentatively, mentally cursing his brother for putting him in the position he was currently in, "would you like me to put your pack with the rest of them?"

Thorin raised an eyebrow and looked at his nephew suspiciously. He wasn't sure why they were so determined to get his pack, but it would not be happening. The younger dwarf shifted uncomfortably under the speculative gaze of his uncle. Again he wished that Kíli would have been wiser. If he had, Fíli would not be trying to manipulate their uncle: a dangerous pastime for any, especially would be pranksters.

"No," the King finally replied, having to fight to keep the smile off his face as Fíli's shoulders drooped. "If I had wanted it there I would have put it there myself." Fíli nodded in response and walked towards Kíli. Thorin did allow himself to smile as he saw Fíli shake his head and Kíli's face fall in disappointment. Thorin shook his own head as he realized that they  _had_ been intending to prank him. Even though he was impressed by their daring, he couldn't say that he was disappointed that they had been thwarted.

They boys, however, were more than disappointed. They were distraught. Without switching the herbs back, they were doomed. That had been their last chance to switch them before their uncle might have the chance to smoke it that evening after the meal. If he did, they weren't even sure that the threat of retribution from his sister Dís for any harm that came to them would stop him. No. Their only hope at that point was that Thorin would not choose to smoke that night, despite the fact that it had been some time since he had. They could only pray that would be the case and that Aulë answered them because otherwise they knew that they would meet their creator sooner rather than later.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The young heirs of Durin should have known better than to trust to luck. That night, after dinner was cooked but before the fire was extinguished, Bilbo took a partially burned stick from the fire and prepared a pipe. Bofur and Nori sat down next to him and prepared their own, all the while trading wagers on who could blow the best smoke rings—despite the fact that Bilbo had won this contest a few times already. Fíli and Kíli breathed a sigh of relief when Thorin showed no sign of joining them but felt their blood freeze as Bilbo said the words that would seal their fate.

"You lot should know better than to bet against a hobbit in a smoke ring contest," Bilbo said, puffing out his chest and practically brimming with pride. "Dwarves can't hold a candle to the smoking prowess of hobbits. We have made an art out of the pastime." Fíli fought the urge to throw something at the burglar. There was no way that his uncle could resist such a challenge. Thorin would smoke with them that night. Fíli's fears were confirmed when a quiet chuckle from the King answered the hobbit's words.

"Are you certain of that, Master Baggins?" Thorin asked, a mocking smile on his face. "I believe that I may have a bit more skill at smoke rings than you do, I do have many years more practice."

"As do they," Bilbo replied gesturing at the other dwarves, a wry smile on his own face. "However they have yet to best me. Do you think you will fare better? You may be able to best me in matters of combat, but this is a contest that is based in the comforts of life, somewhere I am sure that I have more practice, despite your superior years."

"We shall see, Halfling," Thorin replied as he retrieved his pouch from his bag and began to fill his own pipe. If it hadn't been for the fact that they knew that they would not live to see how things turned out, the boys would have been thrilled to see that their uncle was actually  _teasing_  the hobbit. As it was, they were seriously considering fleeing now so that they could put as much distance between their uncle and them as they could before Thorin took that first puff.

Bilbo, as the reigning champion, started off the competition. He inhaled intending to blow the largest smoke ring he was sure that he could pull off so that he was sure to beat the King. He wasn't sure why he was so determined to beat Thorin, but he knew that he  _had_  to do it. However, that is not what happened. As soon as the acrid smoke of the herb hit his lungs he began coughing, the smoke coming from his mouth in a cloud rather than a ring.

"Is that what passes for a smoke ring in the Shire?" Thorin asked laughing at the hobbit with the rest of the company. He wasn't sure why Bilbo was coughing, as the hobbit smoked more than was probably healthy, but he was more than willing to take advantage of the situation to win the contest. He only wished that he and Bilbo had set some terms before they began as he was sure to win now.

"Let me show you how it is done," Thorin continued before putting his pipe into his mouth. Kíli started to stop him, but before he could say anything his uncle had already inhaled the smoke. As he too began to cough Kíli grabbed Fíli's arm and moved to stand behind his brother on instinct. Seeing Kíli's reaction and putting two and two together, Bofur and Nori extinguished their own pipes without even trying them. Also connecting the two events, Dwalin and Balin moved to place themselves between the King and his nephews while Thorin was still doubled over coughing. They hoped to slow him down long enough for him to remember that he loved the boys and give that affection time to override his anger.

"YOU TWO!" Thorin roared before he was overcome with another coughing fit and had to stop yelling and attempt to catch his breath. At their uncle's roar Kíli jumped and moved even farther behind Fíli. He hoped that his uncle would at least pause at the thought of harming his heir in his attempt to get to Kíli—who he would know by now was actually responsible for Thorin's current predicament. He knew that Thorin would have to come through Fíli to get to him. His brother would not desert him.

Fíli could feel Kíli trembling behind him, but unlike his brother the older boy held his composure. He continued to stare into the enraged face of his uncle and met his glare with a proud stare. They had made a mistake and he was prepared to deal with the consequences . . . they would  _probably_  survive their uncle's ire. Even so, he flinched when Thorin spoke next.

By this time, he had managed to get to his feet and even though he still coughed occasionally, the debilitating portion of the cough had passed. He was standing in front of Dwalin and Balin who resolutely refused to move.

"Get out of my way!" he snarled at them.

"Now, Thorin," Balin began, his tone soothing, "the lads were just—"

"I said move," Thorin said, his voice deceptively calm, though his face was still etched with fury. With an apologetic glance that the boys Balin and Dwalin moved to allow Thorin to pass. No matter how much they wanted to protect the boys from his wrath they could not ignore a direct order from their king.

"Come with me," Thorin snapped, grabbing each of the boys by an ear and dragging them into the darkness for privacy—the others supposed, even though he needn't have bothered. They could hear every word he yelled in the stillness of the forest as plainly as if he was standing next to them.

"WHAT WERE THE TWO OF YOU THINKING?!" they heard him yell. "WHY IN DURIN'S NAME WOULD YOU PUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT IN OUR PIPE WEED?!" One of the boys must have tried to justify it because the next words were even louder—though the company hadn't thought that it was possible and wondered if Thorin may have torn something to get that much volume.

"I DON'T CARE IF IT IS A HARMLESS WEED!" Thorin roared. "IT WAS UNNECESSARY AND CHILDISH. AND HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT IT IS HARMLESS? WHAT IF YOU HAD MISIDENTIFIED IT? YOU WOULD HAVE KILLED AT LEAST MR. BAGGINS AND ME!" Even though they couldn't hear the words that were said next, Kíli's voice could be heard; he seemed to be pleading with his uncle.

"IT IS OBVIOUS THAT YOU DIDN'T THINK OF THAT!" Thorin snapped. "AND SAYING THAT YOU ARE SORRY IS NOT ENOUGH THIS TIME. IF YOU INSIST ON BEHAVING LIKE CHILDREN I WILL TREAT YOU LIKE ERRANT CHILDREN!" At his words the rest of the company flinched. They knew that Thorin, as both their King  _and_  their uncle, was entitled to do as he saw fit with the lads, but that didn't stop them from feeling sorry for them. They were far too old for what was about to happen to them. It made them wish that Thorin would have taken his nephews farther away from camp. If he had, even thought their punishment would have been obvious, it would not have been witnessed by everyone.

"He can't mean that he's going to . . ." Bilbo whispered quietly to Bofur. "They're too old for that. Aren't they?"

"Aye," Bofur agreed. "They are too old for it, but that does not mean that he won't do it. And I pity them. He sounds mighty angry with them. Tomorrow they may be glad that we  _don't_  have ponies to ride." Despite Bofur's assurances that Thorin  _did_ actually intended to treat his nephews like errant children Bilbo didn't actually believe that he would do it until he heard the first smack.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Sometime later, they returned to the camp: Thorin still looking angry, but attempting to cover it with his regal façade and Fíli and Kíli looking embarrassed since they knew that everyone had heard Thorin yell at them and had heard what had followed. Everyone else was embarrassed as well and they found that they could look at neither the boys nor their uncle.

"Return everyone's pipe weed to them," Thorin ordered before he returned to his place beside his pack as though nothing had happened. Fíli and Kíli did as they were told and disposed of the replacement herb in the forest. Once they were done with that, they looked around for somewhere to relax before giving up and lowering themselves gingerly onto the ground.

"You know," Kíli whispered leaning in so that only Fíli would hear him and casting a look at his uncle to make sure that he was not paying attention to them, "that was not as bad as I thought it would be. We're still alive."

"For now," Fíli whispered back. He was looking at his uncle too and didn't like the glances that he and Bilbo were sending their way. For the first time he wondered if getting his uncle and the hobbit together was a good idea. With Thorin's skills—and past as a prankster—and Bilbo's sharp mind they would be a formidable team if they chose to declare war. It was with some trepidation that Fíli realized that he and Kíli may have started something with their prank that they were not prepared to deal with. Even though they had already been punished for their actions, he worried that they may not have seen the last of the fallout from their prank.

**ooOO88OOoo**

What Fíli didn't realize is that he and his brother  _had_  started something that they hadn't intended . . . it just wasn't what he thought it was. Bilbo and Thorn  _were_ talking, and they were talking about Fíli and Kíli, but they weren't plotting a revenge prank. They were trying to figure out what  _exactly_  it was that the boys had put in their pipes. Or, at least Bilbo was. Thorin was certain he knew what it was but he was enjoying the sound of Bilbo's voice as they discussed what might be causing their strange symptoms.

Even though Thorin was still livid with the boys for pranking him he felt his anger evaporating in a haze of what he could only describe as euphoria. It wasn't that he had forgotten what they had done, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to care or to brood on the fact that they had done it—and he knew that it was their fault as well. And for some reason, the worn spot on Bilbo's corduroy coat was absolutely fascinating. Even though he knew not to do it, he couldn't resist the urge to reach out and see if it was as smooth as it looked. It was. The spot was soft, smooth and warm from the heat of the hobbit within it. He didn't even notice when Bilbo started at the touch.

Bilbo looked at the dwarf King who was staring at the worn sleeve of his coat and stroking it almost reverently. The look of amazement in his eyes as he looked at the flaw caused Bilbo's heart to clinch painfully in his chest. He wasn't sure why the king was looking at his coat that way, but it was a look that Bilbo had yearned to see directed at him for some time and for it to be directed at his  _coat_  of all things was too much.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked quietly. The dwarf jumped, almost as though he had forgotten the hobbit was there even though he had been staring at him. He looked into Bilbo's blue eyes and found that the color was astounding. They were clearer than sapphires and almost more luminescent. Even the greatest dwarf smiths could not have crafted gems more beautiful than the work that a simple hobbit woman had been capable of. She had created perfection. He also found that he had never before noticed just how smooth the hobbit's lips were.

"Thorin," Bilbo repeated licking his lips nervously under the intense gaze of the dwarf and trying desperately to ignore the feelings that were churning in his gut at the way the king's eyes followed the path of his tongue with hungry worshipful eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," the dwarf replied looking into the blue eyes of the hobbit once more. "I feel wonderful." As he looked up, a strand of his dark hair fell across his face. Bilbo's fingers itched to move it away and perhaps to brush against the cheek of the other in the process. But as he reached out the light from the fire they had yet to extinguish caught on one of Thorin's sliver beads and distracted him. Before he could stop himself, he reached into the dwarf's hair and grasped the bead delicately—noticing as he did that Thorin's hair was surprisingly soft—and turned it in the light admiring the intricate carvings and wondering at the skill it took to make such a thing.

"My mother made that for me," Thorin said. The wonder in the hobbit's eyes amazed him. He had never thought that Bilbo would appreciate something made of metal. He knew that the burglar valued plants and natural beauty, but to see the awe in his eyes as he looked at worked metal caused something to swell in the heart of the king. He knew that he  _had_  to give Bilbo something he made with his own hands and see him look at it with the same reverence. He placed his hand gently on the hobbit's smooth cheek and waited until he looked up before he spoke again.

"Once we have reclaimed Erebor," the king promised. "I will make you a bead personally. I am not as good as my mother was at silver work, I have more practice with iron, but I will do my best."

"You don't have to," Bilbo replied shocked that the king would make such an offer or be touching him so tenderly. Shocked and strangely pleased. "I would not wish to impose."

"It would be no imposition at all, my dear hobbit," Thorin replied bringing his face closer to Bilbo's. "I would give you something that you find pleasant that you can look on and remember me fondly once we have parted."

"What if I don't wish us to part?" Bilbo asked feeling strangely daring. He wasn't sure why, but his usual nervousness had faded and been replaced by a sense of peace and calmness. He knew that what he had said was horribly forward, but he could not find the desire to care.

"Then we do not have to," Thorin whispered before he brought his lips down gently on Bilbo's. It was a barely there caress that ended so quickly that Bilbo was not sure that it had happened. Though the sensation lingered and caused him to giggle. At the light sound, Thorin found a laugh of his own rise up his throat to join it—the tenor and baritone peals joining together to create a joyful chorus as the dwarf king through an arm around the hobbit and used the smaller form to keep himself upright in the face of his laughter.

At the sight of the two of them laughing together hysterically, the company exchanged glances. Even Balin and Dwalin—who had known Thorin the longest—had never seen their king behave that way. They had seen him smoke what they suspected the boys had put in their pipes before but even then it had been a quieter, more contemplative, Thorin that had been unleashed, not this laughing version.

"Lads," Balin asked warily moving to stand next to the brothers, "what  _exactly_  did you put in their pipes?"

"We're not sure," Fíli replied honestly. "It was something that we were given before we left Ered Luin. One of our friends said that it would help relax us on the trip." The elders exchanged looks as they realized what might have happened to the king and the hobbit.

"What else did this "friend" say, lad?" Dwalin asked.

"He said that it would taste vile but that it wouldn't do any lasting harm," Kíli replied wondering where they were going with this. "That's why we used it. We didn't want to hurt them, only to pull a prank." He glanced at his uncle and the burglar who were still laughing. "He didn't tell us that it would cause this. What's wrong with them?"The older dwarves exchanged a look before they started laughing as well.

"What?" Fíli demanded, his tone startlingly reminiscent of Thorin's when he thought others were being intentionally deceptive. "I see nothing funny about this." At the strange dichotomy of Thorin being a convulsive mess of laughter while Fíli was the stern one the other began to laugh like  _they_  were the ones that had smoked the boys' weed.

"Lad," Bofur said throwing an arm around the irate dwarf's shoulder and grinning at him, "your weed . . . well . . . I don't know how to explain it to you . . . but your uncle and Bilbo."

"They are impaired," Balin added. "The weed your friend gave you affected their minds."

"What!?" Kíli barked startled by the idea that he may have impaired his uncle forever. "They'll be alright, won't they?"

"Oh aye," Dwalin replied with a smile. This was not the first time that Thorin had smoked that particular herb before. And If Dwalin knew his king this would not be the last. For the first time Dwalin almost wished that he would have participated in this particular contest. He could do with a little relaxation.

Balin smiled at his brother, he knew where his thoughts had gone and couldn't say that he disagreed with him. "They will both be fine before morning," Balin promised patting the boy on the shoulder. "Hungry, but fine. Don't worry."

"Uncle is going to be madder at us than he already is," Kíli said looking up at the older dwarf with sadness in his eyes. He hated it when Thorin was mad at him.

"No," Balin said offering the young dwarf a smile. "He won't. He knew what it was that he had smoked before he took you out of camp. He is probably done being mad at you already. If you go over," he whispered conspiratorially, "he might even give you a hug at the moment."

"I think his arms are a bit full at the moment," Bofur said dryly. The others followed his gaze and saw that, indeed, the King's arms were currently filled with the body of the hobbit and they were engaged in some rather passionate kissing. Fíli and Kíli found their eyes widen at the sight and knew that they would be traumatized if this went much farther.

"Don't worry, lads," Balin said. "It probably won't go that far tonight. They'll get sleepy soon and even if they do not, impaired or not, Thorin will not bed the hobbit here where we can all watch. It will be a private affair when it happens."

"Too bad they started this under the influence," Dwalin grumbled. "I won't collect if they aren't in their right minds. That would not be fair of me." The others were grateful for his sense of honor. He would be within his right to collect right then if he had wanted to. This was clearly couple behavior. Dwalin, however, knew that come morning he would only have to return the money. The two of them were not a couple yet . . . and in the morning, unless he was very much mistaken—which he didn't think he was . . . well, things would be mighty awkward between those two.


	9. The Morning-After and Self-Loathing

Bilbo moaned contentedly and stretched slightly as he awoke. He kept his eyes closed and allowed himself the luxury of waking slowly—something he hadn't had since before he left Bag End. He was warm and content and had no desire to open his eyes to the dismalness that was Mirkwood. Besides, had had the strangest dream and knew that once he opened his eyes it would be lost. And even though it had been strange, it had also been pleasant.

He and Thorin had been laughing together though he couldn't remember what about. And then . . . he flushed at the memory of what had happened next. He hadn't realized that his subconscious was  _that_ creative. As he thought about it he could still feel the scrape of Thorin's beard on his face and the feeling of the Dwarf King's hair in his hands as they had plundered one another. He felt his blush darken and rapidly changed thoughts before he would have to explain something to everyone there . . . if he continued down that path the content of his dream would be obvious to the company, even if the participants would not. He just couldn't face the knowing looks.

So he shifted to a different memory from the dream, the strangest memory of all. Thorin had been feeding him a squirrel of all things! One of the dark tree-rats that continually scurried overhead and threw things at the company as they passed. There is no way that he would have eaten that! Even Bombur had found no way to cook the ones that Kíli had brought down that was appetizing. He couldn't believe that his dreaming mind was insane enough to summon up something like that. He shook his head and gave a silent snort of laughter at the absurdity of dreams.

At his movement, his pillow moved. Bilbo opened his eyes with panic flooding his veins. Pillows didn't move . . . not on their own anyway. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was blackness. At first he thought that it was still nighttime and he had only awoken because of the dream but as he looked, he could see light passing through it and realized that it was not blackness, but rather black hair that obscured his view. With that realization, he suddenly realized was that there was an arm around him and a large hand resting on his side and that his pillow was no pillow but rather the shoulder of a dwarf wearing fur.

As his brain put two and two together he felt his heart try to leave his chest in its haste to get him moving. He was  _cuddling_  Thorin! The king may have let it go the night before, but there was no way that he would get away with it two days in a row. He had to escape before Thorin woke. But unlike the day before when Bilbo squirmed to escape Thorin did not look at him and smile, instead he pulled Bilbo more firmly against him and mumbled something in Khuzdul. At the sound of muffled laughter Bilbo looked at the dwarves that were watching them with wide smiles and silently begged them to help him.

The desperate look in the hobbit's eyes almost undid them. That, coupled with the endearment that Thorin had mumbled and the antics the two of them had gotten up to the night before nearly caused them to burst into laughter. As it was, it was only a muffled snicker that left them, but that was all it took. Thorin stirred at the sound and the glare that Bilbo shot them that clearly said "That's not what I had in mind" was all it took to break their control. They couldn't help themselves and peals of laughter rang through the camp.

"What's going on?" Thorin demanded sitting up and pulling a startled Bilbo upright with him. "Are we under attack?"

"No, my king," Balin replied with a smile. "We are merely greeting this bright morning and all the humor it holds after the darkness of night." Thorin blinked owlishly a few times before the memories of what had happened the night before flooded back to him. He and Bilbo had smoked his nephew's weed and then . . . Mahal no. He had kissed the hobbit. No, more than kissed. He had attacked the hobbit. The same hobbit he currently had a death grip on.

Embarrassed at his actions the night before he released Bilbo so suddenly that the burglar nearly fell over. "Um . . . well," Thorin said trying to find the right words to say to excuse his actions and failing. "We should move out."

"We were just waiting on the two of you," Dwalin replied with a smirk. "You looked too comfortable for us to bear to wake you. We have already eaten. Don't worry, we saved you some."

"We're awake now," Thorin snapped. "We will leave in five minutes." With that he stood and began to make sure that all of his things were in his pack, even though he had not even taken the time to put out a bedroll the night before. He took longer than was strictly necessary to do it and once he was done looked anywhere but in the direction of the hobbit. He was sure that Bilbo would be livid with him for what he had done the night before, and rightly so. There was no excuse for it. Even though he had been under the influence at the time he had still had some control over his actions, else wise the hobbit would surely be missing a few articles of clothing. He was a fool. A weak fool.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the thought rose that Bilbo had not pushed him away and had, in fact, participated in his display of affection. He viciously shoved it down. The hobbit had been under the influence of an herb and his actions had not been his own. Not realizing the hypocrisy of his thoughts, Thorin decided that that day he would be keeping as much distance between Bilbo Baggins and himself as possible. He could not bear to see the disgust and hatred in those soft blue eyes that he knew would be there. Bilbo had no interest in him.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"So," Bilbo heard Kíli drawl from beside him. He had to suppress a groan. He wasn't sure that he was up to dealing with Thorin's nephews at the moment. He was still feeling flustered by the dream and Thorin's reaction that morning.

"So what?" Bilbo asked tersely when Kíli said nothing more. He was still a bit agitated with him for his prank the night before especially since the weed had apparently made him sleep before he could complete the log the night before. Gandalf was going to be cross with him.

"Slept well, did you?" Kíli asked with a smirk. Bilbo glared at him and Fíli shot him a warning glance. Their uncle was not far away and if they angered Bilbo Thorin might decide that they hadn't learned their lesson the first time.

"Well enough," Bilbo replied. "Though I do have to say that I prefer the dreams I have when I  _haven't_  been drugged by mischievous  _dwarflings_."

"Dwarflings?" Kíli called looking at Fíli who sighed deeply and shook his head emphatically, knowing what his brother was about to say and attempting to discourage him from doing it. "We're "dwarflings" now. Maybe he picked up a bit of Uncle Thorin's personality while he was kissing him last night!"

"I beg your pardon!" Bilbo squeaked. There was no way that they could possibly know about his dream from the night before. No way. Unless . . . no. There was no way that he had been  _kissing_  Thorin Oakenshield in the middle of Mirkwood forest.

"No pardon needed," Kíli replied with a smirk. "From the looks of it the two of you have been wanting to do that for some time. I suppose I can understand it. You're both attractive enough, even though you don't have a beard and he's a bit of a grouch. Though eating that squirrel . . . I can't believe that you two did  _that_." Bilbo stared at the young dwarf completely flabbergasted. How did he know everything that had happened in Bilbo's dream? He shifted uncomfortably and worried his lower lip with his teeth as the though came once again that, perhaps, it had not been a dream.

"Kíli,  _please_  stop talking," Fíli begged as Kíli went on to talk about more things that Bilbo and Thorin had apparently done and thanking them for not "going all the way" in the middle of the camp.

"You should listen to your brother," Thorin said suddenly seeming to appear from nowhere. "It would not do to continue to remind me of the outcome of your little prank. Wouldn't you agree?" Kíli looked down in shame. He hated it when his uncle used that tone on him. He preferred the yelling if he was being honest.

"Yes, Uncle," he said his tone dejected.

"You are not to bother Mr. Baggins about the consequences of your prank either. Do you understand me?" Thorin asked looking between the two of them in turn.

"Yes, Uncle," they both said. Thorin nodded his head and turned before calling for the company to move out leaving an upset Kíli and a flabbergasted Bilbo in his wake. If Thorin was forbidding the boys to talk about it, then it must have happened. He could feel his face growing hot at the realization. He  _had_  kissed the dwarf King in the middle of Mirkwood and in front of his whole company no less! He was ashamed. Thorin must hate him now. He couldn't believe that he had done it. How could he ever look at the dwarf king again?

"Don't worry, laddie," Balin said putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in to whisper in his ear conspiratorially. "I don't think he minded." Bilbo shifted uncomfortably and forced a smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "But I do have one question."

"What's that?" Balin asked with a knowing smile. He knew that Bilbo remembered what had happened but he would let him play dumb if that was what he wished.

"Did I really eat one of those vile tree-rats?" Bilbo asked, his disgust clear in his tone. In response Balin laughed and nodded his head. He was a little worried at the strange shade of green that the hobbit's face took on.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The trek that day was oppressive. It wasn't that the forest was any worse than it had been, it was Thorin. He was feeling miserable for what he had done to Bilbo and the fact that he knew now that he had ruined everything. As a result his temper was shorter than normal. Any time any kind of merriment broke out he shot an icy glare at the offending member of the company until they stopped. Soon everyone quit trying and continued the march in silence. Bilbo in particular felt the weight of Thorin's displeasure.

Every time that Thorin would glare at someone Bilbo would feel his eyes fill with tears and he would look at them apologetically. It was his fault that Thorin was being so cross with everyone. If only he hadn't kissed him, none of this would have happened. He knew that Balin had been wrong. Thorin did mind and in one night he had lost all the regard that he had managed to gain. The longer the day went on, the deeper into self pity Bilbo fell. He felt horrible for his role in destroying the morale of the company.

As Bilbo fell further into self-pity, Thorin's mood also deteriorated further to the point that he was actually growling at anyone who dared to get too close to him. He knew that the fact that he was ignoring the hobbit was hurting Bilbo, but he couldn't bring himself to talk to him. He had no idea what he would say. He couldn't say that he hadn't meant to do it, because he had. There was nothing he could say that Bilbo would want to hear so he said nothing.

Fíli and Kíli were nearly as moody as the other two. They knew that this was actually all their fault. If they hadn't tried to prank Bilbo and their Uncle the two of them would never have gotten high and kissed. If that hadn't happened, then nothing would have changed between them and even though they still wouldn't have been together, they wouldn't have been miserable and spreading their misery to others either. Fíli had been right. Even though they hadn't meddled directly in their relationship, through their meddling in general they may have ruined it. More so than the punishment their uncle had inflicted on them, this outcome made them regret what they had done.

**ooOO88OOoo**

By the time they stopped for the night everyone's tempers were short. An entire day of being glared at for nothing had made them testy. It was when no one could get a fire going and it was obvious that dinner was going to be a cold one that attitude truly started to fly. They all blamed one another for the fact that there was no fire, even though they knew that they could do no better. Despite the tension, they broke into smaller groups to pass the night as they usually did, thought this time there was no laughter and angry statements were more prevalent than smiles.

"Bilbo?" Kíli said quietly sitting down next to the hobbit. Bilbo looked up at him with such sorrow in his eyes that it almost broke the young dwarf's heart. "I'm so sorry," Kíli continued regret coloring his words. "I had no idea this would happen. I didn't realize that I would mess everything up."

"It's not your fault," Bilbo said in a quiet, broken voice. Kíli did feel his heart break for the hobbit this time. There was no reason that Bilbo should even need to be this sad. He had managed to remain happy through everything they had been through. Optimistic to the point of foolishness even. This was wrong.

"It is," Kíli insisted needing to confess even if Bilbo didn't want to listen. "If I hadn't put that herb in your pouch none of this would have happened."

"Maybe not here," Bilbo replied with a sad smile, "but it would have happened. I should have known better than to let myself get attached to Thorin like that. Why would a King ever love a hobbit? I'm a fool."

"You're not," Fíli said sitting down on Bilbo's other side and putting a comforting arm around the distraught hobbit.

"How do you figure that?" Bilbo asked bitterly leaning into Fíli for comfort despite himself.

"You can't control who you love," Fíli replied sagely. "Besides, give him some time. I think Uncle will come around eventually. You might be surprised. I don't believe that your affections are as one-sided as you think."

"Of course he will," Bilbo snorted derisively. "And I will walk into Smaug's den and slay him singlehandedly with my letter-opener." Almost as thought the sarcasm had taken everything he had left, Bilbo's head drooped and he sat between the brothers staring at his empty hands. Fíli and Kíli exchanged looks over his head and wordlessly agreed that they would do whatever it took to fix the problem they had caused.

**ooOO88OOoo**

On the other side of the camp, Balin sighed. He knew that he needed to talk to Thorin. The company could not continue to bear the burden of his anger in addition to the oppression of Mirkwood. Especially when they had done nothing to warrant it. He had meant to stay out of Thorin and Bilbo's business but this needed to be addressed before it caused the quest to fail.

"Thorin," Balin said quietly from beside him, taking it as a good sign when the King looked at him and did not glare or growl.

"What do you want?" Thorin snapped his eyes hard. He didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone Balin. Especially since he knew that Balin would want to talk about the hobbit and what had happened the night before and he had no desire to speak of it ever again. Was it not enough that he knew he had made a mistake? Did he have to hear it from Balin as well?

"You can't keep this up, Thorin," Balin said shaking his head sadly as he looked at Thorin. He saw the hurt that was in his eyes and knew that this would not be an easy conversation. Thorin was many things and stubborn was chief among them. Balin knew even before he started that he was fighting a losing battle, but it was one that he had to attempt.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he snarled looking back down at his sword that he had been cleaning even though it was spotless. He had known that Balin was going to criticize him for his affections for the hobbit. He did not feel like listening at the moment.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Balin snapped. This was not the time for him to go for delicacy. He had known Thorin since they were children and realized that this had gone beyond the point where he could be reasoned with. The only way to break his mood now was to anger him even more and let him rant it out. Otherwise it would only continue to fester and would infect the entire company.

"Do I?" Thorin demanded raising an eyebrow. He refused to give Balin ammunition. If he wanted to discuss this, he was going to have to say it himself.

"Yes, you do," Balin said firmly. "I understand that you are embarrassed by what happened last night, but you  _cannot_  keep taking it out on the lads."

"I am doing no such thing!" Thorin snapped glaring at the younger dwarf with a gaze that could melt iron. It was true that he had been irritable that day, but he had not let it affect the way he had treated the others.

"You are," Balin snapped back unfazed by the glare since he had seen it so many times before. "You have been all day. Go speak with Bilbo. You know that is what you actually want to do."

"And say what, Balin?" Thorin sighed his shoulders drooping slightly. "What can I say to him after what I did?"

"What did you do?" Balin asked honestly. Did Thorin really not realize that Bilbo reciprocated his feelings? He had known that the King was obtuse but surely he couldn't be this dense. He was worse than the hobbit. At least Bilbo had an excuse. Thorin was practiced at hiding his emotions, but Bilbo . . . the hobbit wore his affections for Thorin on his sleeve where everyone could see them. Everyone except Thorin, apparently.

"You saw," the King snapped looking at Bilbo where he sat between Fíli and Kíli staring at his own hands. "Everyone saw. I never should have done it."

"What I saw was two people who want each other desperately and are too blind to see it," Balin replied. "That herb did not make you kiss him or him you. You know this. All the times that we smoked together you never once kissed Dwalin or me. It did not plant those feelings in either of you; it only let them come to the surface."

"I've told you what I think you should do," Balin said with a sigh patting Thorin on the shoulder. "Do with it what you will." Knowing that there was nothing else he could do, Balin stood and went back over to the main group leaving Thorin sitting alone in the dark. Thorin knew that Balin was wise, but he feared that he was mistaken this time. Bilbo did not share his affections. And why would he? Thorin had been nothing but cruel to him when the quest had begun and no amount of kindness now could make up for that. Additionally, he may be a King, but he had no kingdom. Hobbits liked homes and comforts. Without Erebor he could not offer that to Bilbo. He had nothing that would help him woo the hobbit and had no right to try.


	10. Log Books, Confrontations, Braids and Courtship?

Bilbo sighed. He knew that he needed to complete the daily log, but all he wanted to do was go to sleep and hope that when he awoke in the morning all of this had been a dream. Or maybe to never wake up. The rest of the dwarves had to hate him now as well. True, they hadn't said anything rude to him. In fact, despite their short tempers, they had been remarkably polite to him that evening, almost as if they sensed that all it would take to break him would be a harsh word. But he didn't see it that way. He saw their politeness as a way of distancing themselves from him.

Not that he blamed them. If he was in their shoes he would distance himself from the creature responsible for turning their normally fair but firm leader into . . . he couldn't think of a word to aptly describe Thorin's behavior that day. He had been so terse, almost as if he was angry at the world. But Bilbo knew better. Thorin wasn't angry at the world, he was angry with  _him._ Unlike the others, who had said kind words to the hobbit, Thorin had tried to ignore his presence entirely. Bilbo almost wished that Thorin would just yell at him and get it over with. At least then he would be back to normal.

He figured that was why the others were angry with him as well. He knew that he  _should_  get up and march over to where Thorin sat glowering into the woods and  _demand_  that they talk this out. That's what he  _should_  have done, but he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to do it; to force the words of hatred and rejection and disgust to come from Thorin's mouth. No. As pathetic as he knew it was, he couldn't bring himself to face that. So he stayed where he was, miserable in the knowledge that he had caused the others to be yelled at by the King by his inappropriate behavior.

Needing something to occupy his hands, Bilbo dug in his pack and retrieved the log book Gandalf had given him. He intended to write both yesterdays and that day's entry at the same time. A wizard he may be, but Gandalf was not omnipotent and as long as it was done, he would never be the wiser. But when he opened the book and turned the pages, he saw that the last page that had been written on was not filled with his spidery writing, or Thorin's strong bold hand, but rather a large, flowing Elvish script. Someone had written the log for him the night before!

He bent closer, but he couldn't read well enough to make it out. He did see his name as well as Thorin's and Gandalf's but even thought the writing was well spaced, it was just too dim. And there was nothing to indicate who had written it.

"Ori did that," Kíli said unexpectedly. "He knew that it needed to be done and took it upon himself to do it for you seeing as you were otherwise occupied." Bilbo flinched at the reminder of what he had been doing the night before rather than writing the log and Kíli patted his hand rather awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," the young dwarf said. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I should have said that Ori did it and left it at that."

"No," Bilbo replied focusing on the task in his lap in an attempt to forget the memories and feelings that Kíli's words brought to mind. Memories of a beard scraping his face as warm, moist air ghosted over his lips and strong hands on his body . . .  _NO!_  he reminded himself harshly.  _I have to stop thinking about that. Nothing will come of it but heartbreak._  He closed his eyes in an attempt to regain control of the tears that threatened to flow at his thoughts.

He turned them to more practical things. Like what on earth would he tell Gandalf about the day? Should he write that he had kissed the King and turned him into an orc—figuratively speaking? How else should he explain that morale was low? Nothing else had happened that could explain it and that was too important to be omitted. He felt a small whimper rise up his throat at the fact that he would have to confess his mistake to the wizard. Suddenly he felt a hand placed on his that held the quill and a hand close around the book.

His eyes flew open, halfway expecting the King to be standing there trying to take the book he still held. He was slightly disappointed to see Kíli looking at him with sad eyes.

"Let me do it," Kíli whispered. "I'll take care of this tonight. Please." Bilbo looked at him sadly before he nodded and let the dwarf take the book and the pen.

"I didn't know you could write, Brother," Fíli said from the other side of Bilbo, trying to get a laugh out of the hobbit and only receiving a small smile-little more than a twitch of his lips. The only thought that crossed Fíli's mind was that this was not acceptable. His entire life his uncle had lectured him on the way a king was supposed to behave. Thorin's current behavior did not fit into that category. There was no excuse for him to treat any of the others the way he had that day, let alone Bilbo. For reasons that Fíli couldn't understand given how his uncle had treated the hobbit when they started out Bilbo loved him and gave him nothing besides devotion. Even now, rather than be angry with his uncle for behaving like a spoiled child that had been scolded for the first time, Bilbo shouldered all the blame on himself. It wasn't right.

"I can do  _lots_  of things you don't know about, Brother," Kíli replied distractedly focusing on the task he was doing rather than rising to the challenge. He hadn't noticed the fire that burned in Fíli's eyes or realized what it had meant.

"I doubt that," Fíli muttered, not truly paying attention to what had been said as he glared at his uncle. With a grimace on his face, he resolutely stood. He knew that it wouldn't go over well, but he knew that he  _needed_  to let his uncle know what he thought about this situation.

"Where are you going?" Kíli demanded still looking at the book.

"To take care of some business," Fíli replied, his voice hard. The dark haired brother looked up at the tone; he had never heard Fíli speak like that before. Nor had he seen the look that was now on his brother's face as he stared at their uncle. He felt ice flood his veins at the image his brother presented. But slowly it dawned on him what he intended to do.

"No," Kíli breathed throwing himself forward and grabbing Fíli's hand. "You can't." Fíli gave his little brother a hard look before glancing at Bilbo—who still hadn't looked up even after both brothers had left his side—and pulling his hand out Kíli's grasp.

"I have to," Fíli replied shifting into Khuzdul. It didn't matter if the others heard him, but Bilbo did not need to know what he was about to do. "This cannot continue, Kíli. It will destroy them both. Not to mention take the company with them."

"But . . ." Kíli didn't know what to say. He didn't want his brother to go and confront their already irritated uncle, especially not when it was really their fault that he was irritated, but he knew that Fíli was right.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Kíli asked suddenly. He knew that Fíli had to do this and didn't want him to do it alone. Even so, he didn't want to go with him. He had experienced enough of his uncle's displeasure for a while.

"No," Fíli replied. He had seen the regret in Kíli's eyes and knew what it meant. Besides, if it was only one of them perhaps their uncle would not feel as if he was being cornered and  _might_  respond more favorably.

"Practice your writing and," he paused and looked at the still bent form of Bilbo. "Try to get him to smile, will you? I can't take seeing him like this." Kíli nodded and moved to sit back by Bilbo, trying—and failing—to refocus on his task and not watch as he brother went to confront their uncle.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Even though Fíli didn't know it, Thorin didn't need him to tell him that his behavior that day had been decidedly un-kingly. He had known it even before Balin had lectured him about it. He knew that he was not being noble in avoiding the hobbit or in snapping at the others. They had done nothing wrong, it had been him. He was angry with himself and was unfairly taking it out on them. He sighed, glancing around at his despondent company, and feeling remorse flood through him. His question to himself in Beorn's home came rushing back. Bouncing through his mind and combining with the words of the Goblin King to haunt him. How could he call himself a king when he had no mountain to call his own and could not even govern himself?

The sight of Bilbo sitting between his nephews and staring at the log book caused his heart to wrench painfully. Not only had he hurt the being he loved, but he could not bring himself to swallow his pride long enough to even go and help him. He was worthless. The goblin had been right. He was nobody. He looked away from Bilbo just as Kíli took the log from him, and stared into the darkness of the forest. The thought that he should apologize to the hobbit tormenting him and refusing to be dismissed, even as he reminded himself that kings do not generally apologize to their subjects or followers—of which Bilbo was the latter.  _They do not traditionally admit that they are wrong either,_  a part of his mind snidely added.  _And I've already done that._ He shook his head to clear away the thoughts and sat in silence, wallowing in the misery that comes from knowing what he needed to do and refusing to do it. He was startled when he heard Fíli's voice.

"Uncle, we need to talk," the younger dwarf said, his voice hard. When Thorin turned to face his nephew he was surprised to see that there was no mirth in his eyes, no humor in the set of his mouth. Thorin felt worry well within him. He had never seen Fíli look so grim and feared that something may have befallen Kíli.

"What of?" Thorin asked, trying to keep his concern from his voice. Unlike with Balin, he had no idea what Fíli could want to talk with him about, or why he would demand an audience in this manner.

"Bilbo," Fíli replied shortly. He had no intention of drawing this out or trying to placate his uncle. He knew that it was not his position to lecture his elder or his king, but sometimes it was necessary to say something despite what propriety dictated.

"What of him?" Thorin barked, his tone clipped. He might have been willing to let Balin talk to him on the subject, but Fíli had no right! Even though Thorin was ultimately responsible for his actions—and he knew it—Fíli had still had a hand in allowing them to happen.

"You need to talk to him," Fíli replied. "He's distraught, Uncle! He hasn't smiled all night, not once. It's unacceptable! At least go sit by him." At his nephew's words, Thorin felt remorse flood his veins. He had known that Bilbo was upset by what had happened, but not even a single smile? And sitting with Fíli and Kíli, the group's self-designated comedians, no less. He hadn't realized that the hobbit was  _that_  upset.

"I cannot do that," Thorin replied his tone and eyes betraying his sadness at the situation and his guilt.

"You have to," Fíli snapped. "He thinks you hate him!"

"I don't hate him!" Thorin said, surprise coloring his tone. Bilbo thought he hated him? Why would he think that? "I—" the king cut himself off abruptly. He refused to tell his nephew that he loved the hobbit. Even if his nephew would not make fun of him for it, as long as he had never said it aloud he had plausible deniability and when Bilbo rejected him no one need ever know how much it hurt him.

"You love him," Fíli said, his eyes softening. "I already know. I have for some time."

"Then you know why I cannot do as you ask," Thorin replied regally. "I overstepped myself last night. He will never tell me so because of my position within this company, but I know that he feels that I did. That is why he is upset. He is uncomfortable about what happened and does not feel that he can challenge me about it. It is kinder for me to leave him in peace."

"That is  _not_  why he is upset, Uncle," Fíli replied, his voice hard once more. "If you would just  _talk_  to him, and actually listen to what he says, you would know that."

"What other explanation could there be?" Thorin demanded, his temper rising at the tone his nephew was taking with him. What had started as a whispered conversation had now drawn a bit of an audience, though the listeners were being subtle about it.

"I . . . I can't tell you that," Fíli replied. "It is not my reason to tell. But I will tell you this;  _everyone_  here except for you knows why Bilbo is actually upset. And I will give you a hint: it is not that far from the reason that  _you_  are." Fíli turned away at that point to walk back to where his brother and the hobbit were still sitting. Thorin knew that he should follow the boy, but he couldn't find any reason that he should go over there other than to be near Bilbo and knew that was not a good enough reason.

"If you need an excuse," Fíli said as though he had read his uncle's thoughts, "you were right about his hair. With the texture and length of it, his braids are coming undone. It would be a shame if we were to encounter an enemy and he was to become injured because his hair got in his eyes, wouldn't you say, Uncle?" Thorin watched his nephew return to the other two and take back his spot. Fíli had been right. Bilbo's hair had escaped from his braids and was forming a halo around his head. Thorin knew that they did need redone and that none of the others would do it—not even his nephews—since he had laid claim to the hobbit by his choice of braid. While he could bear Bilbo's unhappiness—if only just barely—he could not bear it if his pride and refusal to admit he had made a mistake caused the hobbit injury.

With a sigh the King levered himself to his feet and walked across the camp. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, but he didn't care. None of them would question his actions. Once he was standing in front of the hobbit, however, his certainty and self-assurance faded and he felt nervousness take their place. What would he say? When Bilbo didn't notice him, he cleared his throat in an attempt to get the hobbit's attention. The look of sorrow in Bilbo's eyes changing to a tentative hope made his heart swell. Perhaps what Fíli had said was correct. Perhaps Bilbo didn't hate him.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked. "Did you need something?"

"Your braids need redone, Halfling," the King replied, his tone cool even though his eyes held fondness. "It wouldn't do to have your hair getting in your face and to have you die, would it?"

"You don't have to do it," Bilbo replied looking down once more, his tone broken. Thorin felt a wave of self-loathing go through him.  _He_  was the cause of the halfling's mood. Fíli was right again. This was unacceptable. Despite the self-loathing there was a bit of hope. Hope that once he was gone Fíli would be a better king than him.

"I would like to," Thorin replied in a softer voice. "If you will allow it." Bilbo was shocked at the tone. He had never even heard Thorin use that tone with his own kin. It almost sounded like he regretted hurting Bilbo's feelings. He looked up, wondering if the look on Thorin's face would be the same as his voice. It was, regret burned so fiercely in his blue eyes that it took Bilbo's breath away and brought a tear of relief to his eyes. Thorin didn't hate him!

Thorin watched the tear roll down Bilbo's cheek and ached to reach out and brush it away. His hand even twitched to do it before he managed to force it to remain at his side. He would not touch the Halfling until he had been invited to do so.

"I will allow it," Bilbo said with a smile as he slid down to sit on the ground to give Thorin his seat. The brothers scooted over just enough to accommodate their uncle's larger form. Thorin sat between them, smiling slightly at the feeling of his nephew's warm bodies on either side of him and Bilbo's warmth against his thigh as the hobbit leaned against him. Unlike the last time Thorin had braided his hair, this time Bilbo did not close his eyes, but rather watched as Thorin's eyes took on a look of intense concentration

"Hold this," Thorin said dropping the small silver fastener into Bilbo's palm and beginning to undo the first braid. Once it was done, Thorin ran his hands through the newly freed curls. They slid over his fingers like silk. He swallowed hard as Bilbo leaned into his touch. He felt warmth flood his veins as a fond smile crossed his face. Once he could justify stroking the hobbit's hair no longer, he began to braid it once more, trying to braid it more securely in the hopes that it would last longer. Bilbo winced at the unfamiliar pressure.

"I'm sorry," Thorin said, meaning that he hadn't meant to pull the hobbit's hair. But Bilbo took it another way. He took it the way that he wanted to hear. He saw it as an apology for what had happened that day.

"No, I'm sorry," the hobbit apologized. "I overstepped myself last night. I should never have kissed you. I'm sorry." Bilbo watched as the king's shoulders drooped and he closed his eyes. Bilbo knew then that he had misunderstood. That had not been why Thorin had apologized. But now that is was said, it couldn't be taken back.

"You did not," Thorin sighed looking at Bilbo with sad blue eyes, "I was the one who initiated it. The fault is mine. I should never have put you in that position." He focused on Bilbo's hair once more so that he did not have to look into the eyes of the hobbit as he said the words that he knew would hurt him.

"No," Bilbo disagreed. "I should have stopped you. I should never have let my own feelings get in the way. I knew that what we were doing was wrong. I never should have let it continue." Bilbo flinched as he felt Thoirn's hands stop their motion.

"It was wrong?" Thorin asked shocked that Bilbo would actually say such a thing. He knew that the hobbit probably  _thought_  it, but for him to say it . . . it hurt to hear the words.

Bilbo thought about the King's words and his tone. Underneath the shock had been hurt. Was it possible that what Fíli and Balin had hinted at was the truth? Did Thorin harbor fond feelings for him? As imposable as it was, it was almost beginning to make sense.

"Perhaps not," Bilbo said slowly. "In the Shire . . . something like what happened last night between us . . . well . . . it doesn't happen." Bilbo watched and saw the faintest twitch around Thorin's eyes that hinted at the pain he felt at the hobbit's words. Thorin had known that the hobbit did not share his feelings, but it still hurt more than he had thought it would. He looked down and finished the braid in his hands, the weave this time not one of possession but one of sadness and apology.

"Clasp," Thorin said, refusing to look at the hobbit and holding out his hand. When Bilbo's small, soft hand set the clasp into his larger one, Thorin was surprised when the hand did not retract immediately but rather closed around his, grasping it.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, trying to get the dwarf to look at him. He was feeling abnormally brave for some reason and almost felt that he had nothing to lose. He had started down this path and intended to see it through to the end. . . whatever end that might be. When Thorin did look up, his eyes were hooded, cautious even.

"We're not in the Shire, are we?" Bilbo whispered. "The rules are not the same here as they would be there, are they?" Rather than reply, Thorin carefully removed his hand from Bilbo's and fastened the braid. Bilbo could not be saying what he thought he was. There was no way. Though as he thought about it, Balin's words floated through his mind:  _it did not plant those feelings in either of you; it only let them come to the surface._  As did Fíli's words. Was it possible?

"Turn," Thorin said shortly. Bilbo sighed sadly but complied, giving the dwarf access to the other braid. "Hold this," Thorin said dropping the other fastener into Bilbo's hand. As he unbraided that braid and felt his fingers engulfed in soft, curly hobbit hair he felt his mouth begin to move of it's own accord, and heard words leave it.

"I suppose you are right," Thorin heard himself say. "We are not in the Shire. Among dwarves . . . what happened last night . . . it's normal. We have so few women that it is not uncommon for men to take other men as partners. However, I don't know of a dwarf ever partnering with a hobbit before." Bilbo had glanced up at his face when he started speaking and saw the wry smile that twisted his lips at the last words.

"Let alone a dwarf King," Bilbo added sadly. Thorin was going to let him down gently. He should have known that this would be the outcome.

"No," Thorin agreed. "None of my ancestors ever took a hobbit for a mate or a consort."

"I thought as much," Bilbo said in a small voice wishing that Thorin did not have a hold on his hair that restricted his movement so that he could turn his head away from the gentle look in the dwarf's eyes. He couldn't stand his pity at the moment.

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "However, as Gandalf and countless others have reminded me since this quest began, I am not them. I am not bound to their fates."

"I'm afraid I . . . I don't . . . what are you saying?" Bilbo asked cautiously. He knew that he  _hoped_  Thorin was saying, but he also knew better than to trust to hope.

"I'm saying that even though this is unprecedented, it does not mean that it is wrong," Thorin replied. Looking levelly at the hobbit to attempt to gage his reaction. The unbridled hope in his eyes stole the King's breath. The others had been right. Bilbo Baggins  _did_ love him.

"So . . . let me get this straight . . . what you are saying is that . . . you and I . . . we . . . "

Rather than reply to Bilbo's stuttered question in words, Thorin leaned down and gently pressed his lips against the hobbit's. It was a chaste kiss, a symbol of intent but something that would not frighten him off. However, when he pulled back he could do nothing to rein in the passion that burned in his eyes.

"Well," Bilbo gasped. "I suppose that answers that!" He swallowed convulsively before he looked up at Thorin. "So where does this leave us. I have feelings for you. You have feelings for me. What does that mean?"

"What do you want it to mean?" Thorin asked. "If you want it to mean nothing, then it does not have to."

"It means  _something_ , Thorin Oakenshield!" Bilbo snapped causing the dwarf King to chuckle.

"Of course it does, Bilbo, of course it does," Thorin replied a smile crinkling his eyes. "What do you want it to mean?"

"Well . . . I don't know," Bilbo said looking up at Thorin with anxiety.

"We don't have to know yet," Thorin replied placing his hand on the hobbit's cheek. "We can just let things happen and see where they go from there. I will not officially court you until you decide."

"Officially court?" Bilbo asked. He didn't understand the words. How could you unofficially court someone. Courting was courting, wasn't it?

"Dwarves have a system in place where you can . . . test the waters, if you will," Thorin explained. "It is an unofficial courtship that allows the participants to determine if they would like to proceed to the official courtship. It is a decision that must be examined carefully because once it is done it cannot be undone and they  _will_  be married within the year."

"But the unofficial one—"

"Can be ended at any time? Yes," Thorin explained. He watched as Bilbo worked through what he had just been told, his brows lowered and his lower lip between his teeth again. Then his expression abruptly changed to one of mischief.

"So you would court me officially?" Bilbo asked suddenly. "You would bind yourself to me for eternity?" Thorin sighed at his words. He hadn't meant to tell Bilbo that just yet. It felt wrong to allow anyone—even Bilbo—to realize just how much potential they had to hurt him if they chose to do so. But he wouldn't lie to the hobbit.

"Yes," Thorin said his eyes daring the burglar to laugh. "I would. The unofficial courtship is rarely used. Most dwarves—by the time they realize they would like to wed—are certain of who it is that they want to wed. I would have you beside me forever, if you would be there." Bilbo thought about his words. He knew he loved Thorin, but  _forever_? Could he really give up everything he had known to move to Erebor with the dwarves? How would the other dwarves take it that their king had fallen for a hobbit?

Seeing his turmoil Thorin spoke once more. "You do not need to decide tonight," he reminded the hobbit. "I will wait." Bilbo smiled at him and he knew then that he had said the right thing. The he saw doubt flitter across the burglar's face. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking what had upset him.

"May I . . . well that's to say . . . I would like to—may I kiss you?" Bilbo blurted out. This time the King did laugh outright.

"My dear hobbit," Thorin replied leaning towards him, "you may do so as often as you would like."


	11. Coins Exchanged and Ages Revisited

Across the campsite, Thorin and Bilbo had an audience they were oblivious to. Ever since Thorin had stood to cross the camp, the others had watched carefully. They hadn't been particularly surprised when Thorin began to braid the hobbit's hair: that had happened before and as far as apologies went it was not unprecedented. Even when Thorin had kissed Bilbo they hadn't been too enthused, though Dwalin had begun to look at them with a smug expression on his face. Even when Fíli rose and moved towards the rest of the company to give his uncle and Bilbo some privacy they weren't entirely convinced, even though Fíli assured them that they were discussing courting. It was only when Bilbo rose up on his knees and pressed his lips against Thorin's that the company broke into cheers and grumbles as they dug into their bags to pay Dwalin.

"There are many definitions of 'coupling',"' Bofur complained as he handed over his gold. "This is only one of them. We never did specify which one we meant when we started the bet."

"Do  _you_ want to be the one that stalks them until Thorin decides to bed the hobbit?" Dwalin asked, soliciting a blush from a few members of the company as he continued. "Would impassioned moans be enough proof or would you need to see them in the act itself? To see the sweat sheening their skin as hands and lips roam. Or to see the look on Bilbo's face as Thorin—"

"Just pay up lad," Balin said glaring at his brother to silence him. "He'll only get worse." Balin was no prude, but the images that his brother was painting of his friend and his King were rather graphic and unnecessary. And something about thinking about Bilbo in such a position seemed obscene. Though he did have to admit that he was a bit impressed. Dwalin was not known for his skill with words and that had almost been poetic . . . well until the end anyway.

**ooOO88OOoo**

At the sound of the others cheering, Bilbo pulled away breaking the kiss. As he suddenly remembered that they had an audience, he could feel the blood flow into his face and knew that he had to be to color of a ripe tomato. This was beyond embarrassing. He gave them a nervous grin and small wave to acknowledge their congratulations, surprised to realize that Fíli was among them. He didn't remember hearing him move. He looked for Kíli, knowing that he would be near his brother, and was surprised when he didn't see him.

A quiet snore to his left drew his attention and he glanced over to see Kíli fast asleep on Thorin's shoulder, the log book clutched limply in his hands. Thorin smiled down at him before taking the book from his hands with his left hand and setting it on the log beside him.

"Poor lad's had a rough couple of days," Thorin said, his voice gentle and his eyes softer than Bilbo had ever seen them. "We all have. Will you get his bedroll out?" Bilbo nodded and dug quickly into Kíli's pack to retrieve it before unrolling it and wondering how Thorin would wake his sleeping nephew. He hoped it wouldn't be too roughly. For all his joking, Kíli really was a rather pleasant fellow.

It turned out that Thorin had no intention of waking Kíli at all. Instead, he turned his own body so that he could slide his arm under his nephew's knees and gently lifted him before standing and carrying him to where Bilbo had laid out his bedding. He knelt and gently placed the still-sleeping Kíli on the bedroll before removing his own coat to cover him.

"He's almost too big for me to do this," Thorin said with a fond smile as he stroked Kíli's black bangs back from his eyes. He didn't understand it but for some reason he was feeling sentimental. "I remember when he was born, such a  _tiny_  thing. I could hold him in one hand. He is much bigger now, but still little more than a dwarfling."

"He's older than me," Bilbo said still surprised at the truth contained in his words. Kíli behaved like a tween, not someone who was nearly a hundred years old and should be well into maturity. It was almost incomprehensible to him that  _Kíli_ could be his elder.

"Please,  _never_  remind me of that fact again," Thorin replied with a pained expression on his face. He had almost forgotten that the hobbit was only fifty. He still felt shock and a little self-loathing at the reminder that he was in love with someone who was younger than his nephews—who he still viewed as children. What did it say about him that he loved someone who was younger than a child?

"Surely it's not  _that_  young," Bilbo replied a little affronted at Thorin's tone. It was almost as if he had told the dwarf that his grandmother had been a dragon. "Ori can't be more than—"

"Ori is 135," Thorin replied tersely. "Fifty-three years older than Fíli and fifty-eight years older than Kíli."

"Really?" Bilbo asked in surprise. He would never have guessed that. Ori was so timid, almost hobbit-like. "I thought that he was the youngest of the dwarves."

"I almost didn't bring Kíli because of his age," Thorin replied gruffly. "I would never have accepted someone younger."

"So . . ." Bilbo said as he shifted uncomfortably. He was younger than Kíli, but he was not to remind Thorin of that. Knowing this, he searched for another topic. "Balin is the oldest, then?"

"No," Thorin snorted in response and shook his head with a slight smile crossing his lips. Balin's white hair made him look much older than he actually was. Served him right too, mocking the slow development of others. "Balin is not the oldest."

"Oin then?" Bilbo asked. At this, Thorin laughed outright and Bilbo felt a smile cross his face and crease his eye. He really loved it when Thorin laughed. It was such a rare sound . . . unless Kíli and Fíli drugged him.

"No," Thorin replied once he felt that he could trust his voice. He was enjoying this, and felt himself strangely flattered that Bilbo had not guessed the correct answer yet. He knew that he didn't show his age clearly but he figured that he cantankerous personality would give it away.

"Dori?" There was no way that it wasn't Dori. He was the last member of the Company that gave any real appearance of age in his behavior or appearance.

"Not Dori," Thorin said with another laugh. He understood what Bilbo was thinking, and it made sense. That didn't make it any less wrong, but he could see where the hobbit had come up with his answers. Thorin found that he was finding this guessing game endlessly amusing.

"Not Bifur?" Bilbo asked again, his tone showing his incredulity. His tone and his face were both confused and shocked at the same time. It was the strangest expression Thorin had ever seen in his life.

"No," Thorin agreed with another smile. "Bifur is not the oldest." At his words, Bilbo felt understanding dawn, as well as disbelief. There was no way it was possible. But the remainder of the dwarves were too young to be the oldest. The only other dwarf that even hinted at age, through the few grey hairs on his head was . . . Thorin.

"It's not  _you_ , is it?" Bilbo asked, realizing that the thought was ludicrous but knowing that Thorin was the only possibility left. And once he was down to no other possibilities, the truth, while shocking, was apparent.

Thorin nodded solemnly before looking down and stroking Kíli's hair once more. He had known that Bilbo would eventually figure it out once the topic of ages came up. He could only hope that Bilbo would not ask how old he actually was. There were already too many differences between them, too many gaps both in status and in culture. His knew that his age would be one too many and this would end before it had ever begun. He should have known better than to hope.

"How old?" Bilbo asked in a strangled sort of voice. He had done some quick calculations and knew that if Thorin was older than Dori—who Bilbo had heard was twenty-five years older than Ori—then he had to be more than 160. It was difficult for Bilbo to fathom, as hobbits only lived to be about a hundred.

"Do you truly wish to know?" Thorin asked, his eyes sad and his smile gone once more. Bilbo nodded and Thorin sighed. "I am 195 years old. I was twenty-three when the dragon Smaug descended on Erebor. And younger than Fíli and Kíli, only a little older than you, during the Battle of Azanulbizar."

"How old were you when you became King?" Bilbo asked suddenly. He had been under the impression that Thorin became king at the battle, but if Fíli and Kíli were still children that could not have been the case. They would not have made a child take the throne. He focused on little things like that rather than the fact that the dwarf he was in love with was almost four times his age.

"I was 104," Thorin replied with a sad smile. Bilbo seemed shocked, but not overly so and he wasn't backing away in disgust. It was a good sign. Perhaps this would not be the final straw. Bilbo nodded sagely at the information.

"So . . . 195, eh?" Bilbo asked with a smile. "You look good. How long do dwarves live anyway?"

Thorin nodded in acknowledgement of Bilbo's compliment and then sighed. "That is a difficult question to answer," Thorin replied. "We tend to average about 250 years of age. But different lines live to different ages and some dwarves have been known to live much longer."

"What about your line?" Bilbo asked innocently. He didn't realized just how painful his question would be for the other. "How long do they tend to live?"

"I'm not sure," Thorin replied shaking his head sadly. "None of us have lived long enough to die of old age for the past few generations. In fact, we tend to die rather gruesome deaths." With those words, Thorin's eyes took on a haunted expression as he remembered the deaths of his brother and grandfather. He had not seen his father die, but he would wager all the gold in Erebor that it had not been a pleasant death.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said gently placing his hand on Thorin's. He hadn't meant to hurt him and it was clear that his question had done just that.

"We'll break that streak," Bilbo promised suddenly, knowing that it was a promise he could not necessarily keep. "You, Fíli, Kíli. All three of you will die of old age. I'll see to it." Thorin smiled sadly. He knew that it was a promise the hobbit could not keep as well and it amused him that he would attempt it.

"What of you?" Thorin asked changing the subject from the potential deaths of him and his kin. "How long do hobbits live?"

"About a hundred years," Bilbo replied with a smile. "It's funny," Bilbo said suddenly his smile shifting to a wry one as his mind had done the math once more.

"What is funny?" Thorin asked. He could find nothing amusing about the conversation they had just had. Death was not amusing, even if it was one of a peaceful passing in old age.

"Despite the gap in our ages, we will both grow old at about the same time," Bilbo answered with a bright smile. Thorin thought about it and realized that Bilbo was correct. They would reach the end of their lifespans at approximately the same time. Unless fate was abnormally cruel and took either of them before their time or unless Thorin was one of the rare dwarves that lived to an unnatural age. The first of which was a very real possibility and the second . . . well, Thorin and fate were not the best of friends and anything was possible.

Rather than air his troubling thoughts, the King gave Bilbo a small smile and a nod. For a time they sat in silence, Thorin brooding about unpleasant possibilities and going over all the potentially gruesome ways he, his nephews and potentially Bilbo could die on this quest while absentmindedly stroking Kíli's hair. The thought that he might outlive any of them was almost more than he could bear.

Bilbo watched him unabashedly. He found that Thorin brooding was no less attractive than Thorin was when he smiled. It was just a different kind of attractive. More mysterious almost. And even though he had rarely imagined what Thorin would have been like with a young Fíli and Kíli, Bilbo could now see that he would have been good with them. Despite his sternness, he truly cared for the boys. Eventually Bilbo felt his eyes begin to droop and his head begin to list.

The third time this happened, he nearly fell over and gave a small startled squeak. Thorin looked up at the sound and could see that Bilbo was almost asleep where he sat. He smiled at the hobbit before standing and retrieving both their bedding before unrolling it next to Kíli's.

"Come, Bilbo," Thorin said offering the hobbit his hand. "I think it best that you lie down before you fall over, don't you?" Bilbo smiled up at him, his eyes and face soft with the sleep that had already begun to settle over him.

"I think," Bilbo said with a wry smile, his Tookish streak taking over at the idea that the King was coddling him," that I am old enough to decide when it is time for me to go to bed, Thorin. I haven't had a bedtime in more than twenty years."

"Fine," Thorin replied knowing that the hobbit was being irritating on purpose. "In that case, I am tired and would appreciate it if you would keep me company. Is that more agreeable?"

"I think I can agree to that," Bilbo said stifling a yawn with his hand. "After all, we can't have our leader falling asleep on the road."

"No," Thorin replied with a small laugh. "We can't have that. Come." Thorin laid himself down on his back and patted the spot beside him in invitation. Bilbo lay on his own bedding, a bit away from the King. They may have been discussing courtship earlier, but Bilbo still wasn't sure how Thorin would feel about him invading his personal space without invitation. Even Fíli and Kíli rarely did and they were his nephews!

"That wasn't what I meant by 'keep me company'," Thorin whispered in the darkness before wrapping his arm around Bilbo and sliding him—bedding and all—closer so that Bilbo was now snuggled up against his side. "That's better." Thorin mumbled. If Bilbo hadn't known better, he would have sworn that the King kissed the top of his head before he whispered. "Good night, burglar."

"Good night, Thorin," Bilbo replied quietly. It only took a moment for the warmth radiating from the dwarf next to him and the steady heartbeat beneath his cheek to lull him into sleep. Despite what he had thought previously, it was the best night of sleep he had ever had.

Thorin, too, found the sleeping arrangements quite agreeable and quickly decided that he could get used to sleeping with a hobbit in his arms and his nephews on the other side. For the first time in ages, he felt what could almost be described as contentment wash through him. For now, he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all, a new chapter. Figured I would give you at least one more happy one before we get more drama from Mirkwood and misunderstandings. I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> And a little note on the ages. The only ages that are known for sure were Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin and Balin. But in the book, it says that Fíli and Kíli are the youngest by more than fifty years and that Balin is the second oldest (after Thorin) so I did a little creative math and some flat out BS to get the ages I needed for this. I hope you don't mind too much :)


	12. A Jealous Dwarf, a Terrified Hobbit, and a Boat

The next morning dawned bright—for a morning in Mirkwood anyway—and as they had the day before, Thorin and Bilbo awoke in each other's arms. Only this morning, there was no muffled laughter or awkward panic. Everyone had seen what transpired the night before and knew that this was going to be the new norm for their King and their burglar. It had only been funny when one, or both, of them had done it but the relationship was unacknowledged. Now that it was an established fact, the humor was gone. However, that didn't mean that the awkwardness was.

Both Thorin and Bilbo were unsure as to how they should behave now that they were unofficially courting. Bilbo had no idea what an unofficial courtship entailed and although he was sure that there were traditions and expectations that generally followed such a declaration, Bilbo hadn't been raised as a dwarf and Thorin had neglected to mention them when he explained the strange concept of an unofficial courtship. There was one thing that Bilbo was sure of. Courting, even unofficially, with the dwarf King would be nothing like courting a hobbit lass would have been.

For example, even if there were flowers to be found in the dankness of Mirkwood he couldn't very well see presenting the great Thorin Oakenshield with a bouquet of wildflowers. If he tried, Thorin would probably glare at them until they wilted, or worse, be allergic. No. Flowers were out of the question. As was inviting him to a private romantic dinner. Not only was there little enough to go around, there was no time for Bilbo to properly prepare a meal, nor was there really the opportunity for them to slip away.

No, the change in their relationship status did not actually make things better for the hobbit. In fact, it only served to cause more stress for Bilbo as he tried to figure out what he should do now. How exactly did one unofficially court a king? It was this question that led to them having their first argument as a couple less than twenty-four hours after they became one.

Bilbo, not wanting to admit to Thorin that he had no idea how to court a dwarf king, had decided that it would be best if he asked one of the other dwarves. Balin had been deep in discussion with Thorin about the path ahead and where the trajectory they were currently on might lead if he was correct about where they currently were and therefore unavailable. Fíli and Kíli, while available, had their heads together as they walked and kept glancing at Bilbo in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. He quickly rejected them as an option. They were devious and while they wouldn't actually hurt him, he wouldn't put it past them to make fun of him or to give him advice that would make him make a fool of himself. No. Fíli and Kíli were not a viable source of advice on how to court their uncle.

Looking around quickly, he saw Bofur. He didn't seem to be too busy and Bilbo knew that even though he enjoyed a good joke just like the Durin brothers, he would not use this as an opportunity to pull one. Bofur was older and knew that matters of the heart were no laughing matter. Bilbo made his way over to the dwarf, trepidation swirling within him.

"Um, Bofur?" Bilbo said quietly. When the dwarf looked at him curiously he cleared his throat. "Um . . . May I ask you something?"

"Of course!" the dwarf replied clapping Bilbo on the shoulder. "What do you want to know?"

"Well . . . It's about Thorin," Bilbo began. "I don't know how to . . . what I mean is . . . we're . . . how do dwarf courtships work?" Bofur felt his eyebrows rise at the question. He knew that they had slept together the night before, and that they kissed a few times but he didn't realize that the king had proposed courtship—despite what Fíli had said the night before. He knew that Thorin was fond of the hobbit but he didn't realize that the King was  _courtship-fond_.

"If I may ask," Bofur began slowly, "are we discussing an  _official_ courtship or an unofficial one?"

"Unofficial," Bilbo answered. Bofur nodded feeling slightly relieved. He had hoped that it wasn't the first. While he was happy that the two of them were happy, he feared that their happiness would not last. They hadn't exactly had the best beginning and relationships were hard enough without throwing in all the differences the two of them had. Theirs was almost surely doomed. At least with it still being unofficial the hobbit had a way out when it failed. He threw an arm around the hobbit's shoulders and leaned in conspiratorially.

"In that case, what you need to do is—"

Bilbo never got to find out what it was that he needed to do in the case of an unofficial courtship because as Bofur leaned in to whisper in his ear so that the others wouldn't hear, a low growl came from the front of the column. Before either of them could move, Thorin was there, pulling Bilbo away from Bofur and glaring at the toymaker. Bofur said nothing, but bowed his head in apology. Bilbo may be his friend, but he should have known better than to place his hands on the courtship partner of the King. It had been his mistake.

Thorin nodded with a slight snort before walking back towards the front of the company with Bilbo still firmly held against his side. Bilbo looked up at the dwarf in curiosity. It was clear that he was livid. The hobbit had had that emotion directed at him often enough to recognize it, but what he couldn't understand was what he had done wrong. He and Bofur had just been talking the way that they always had and nothing else had happened to explain Thorin's behavior . . . not that that did either. If he hadn't know better, he would have thought that the King was jealous.

"Why did you do that?" Bilbo asked cautiously. He didn't want to anger Thorin further, but he needed to know. Thorin didn't reply, but he did shoot a small glare at Bilbo. He couldn't believe that the hobbit didn't understand. By accepting Thorin's courtship he had bound himself to Thorin and no other until such a time as it was dissolved. In the traditions of the dwarves, Thorin was now the only one authorized to touch Bilbo.

"I mean it," Bilbo said digging in his heels and attempting to stop the larger dwarf from continuing on. "I want to know. Why did you do that? We weren't doing anything—"

"You are my partner," Thorin replied gruffly. "He had no right to touch you."

"Touch me?" Bilbo asked wriggling out from under Thorin's arm to glare at the dwarf. "It was just an arm!"

"It was still a touch, a possessive one," Thorin growled shooting another glare at the toymaker, who had moved to the very back of the column and put as much distance between him and the King and the hobbit as he could and still remain with the group.

"It wasn't possessive!" Bilbo snapped his voice still quiet. The argument was just between the two of them and there was no need to involve the others. "It was friendly.

"It was unnecessary!" Thorin roared. The rest of the company stopped and turned to face the argument that was happening. It wasn't that Thorin yelling was abnormal, even him yelling at Bilbo was not that strange. It was what followed that was truly extraordinary: Bilbo responded in kind.

"He did nothing wrong!" Bilbo yelled, his hands on his hips as he glared up at Thorin. "He's the only one that has been nice to me the either time I've been with you lot! He's my friend. It was a friendly touch. Nothing more. You overreacted."

"I overreacted?" Thorin asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes!" Bilbo snapped. "It was your reaction that was unnecessary. Do you truly intend to snarl and glare at every single member of the company that touches me? If I trip and Dwalin grabs my arm are you going to snap at him? What of your nephews? Fíli and Kíli often put their hands on me, or an arm around my shoulder. Will you yell at them too?" Thorin at least had the grace to look uncomfortable.

"Well . . . "Thorin said slowly. "I . . . of course not. But—"

"But what, Thorin Oakenshield?" Bilbo demanded, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. Suddenly Thorin found himself wondering if there was more to Bilbo Baggins than even he had guessed. Perhaps Gandalf had been right about hobbits being dangerous in a pinch and  _he_  had been the one to place their hobbit there.

"He . . . and you," Thorin began slowly. He wasn't used to needing to explain himself to anyone. Most of the people that he dealt with followed his orders without question. But Bilbo . . . Bilbo was something else entirely. And with rather impressive glare that the hobbit was currently leveling at him, Thorin felt vaguely intimidated for the first time since he had been a child. He almost pitied the dragon. Smaug had no idea the force that was coming for him.

"What about it?" Bilbo demanded his voice hard and his glare unwavering. "Do you not trust me?"

"With my life," Thorin answered without pausing to think about it. Bilbo had saved him. Of course he trusted the hobbit. At his words, the glare disappeared and Bilbo's eyes softened once more. He had known that the King trusted him, but it had never actually been said.

"Then trust me with your heart," Bilbo replied quietly, a small smile on his face. "I won't betray you." Thorin's only reply had been a curt nod. The hobbit had been right. The king knew that if he was willing to trust Bilbo with his life, his heart should be no problem. But it was. What Bilbo didn't understand was that failure on the first count would only mean the end of Thorin's life. Failure on the second: that would destroy his soul.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After their argument blew over, the company continued on in silence for a time. No one could believe what they had just witnessed. Never would any of them have predicted that Bilbo would stand up to Thorin. And even on their wildest days, none of them would have even hinted that the hobbit would win such an argument. But he had and he did. They were impressed, almost more so than when Bilbo had charged into battle.

Bilbo, however, was not feeling particularly impressed with himself. Rather, he was feeling more angry with Thorin for being an idiot than he was proud of himself for telling Thorin that he was being an idiot. Bilbo and  _Bofur_  a couple? And the morning after he had agreed to an unofficial courtship with the King? What kind of hobbit did Thorin take him for? He was still seething quietly when they found their path blocked by a swift moving black river.

"Thorin, there's no way across," Dwalin said suddenly. The company knew of this river. Beorn had warned them that even brief contact with the water would cause forgetfulness and sleep. A quick glance around revealed that Dwalin was correct: there was no readily apparent means of crossing the river. They would have to turn back.

Thorin sighed deeply. He had no desire to turn back. They had already lost three and a half days to the forest. If they turned back, they would lose that much again and then be forced to journey south, with wargs and orcs on the prowl, to the great road. If they survived that they would then have to pick their way through the marshes. No. They needed to find a way to cross this river. There was no other option. Not really.

Thorin began looking around. The company had rope, perhaps they could find a way to make a bridge. The trees had branches that crossed the river and touched trees on the other side. And the branches looked as though they were sturdy enough to support the weight of a packless Kíli. Perhaps he could be persuaded to cross the river in the trees and-

"There's a boat," Bilbo said suddenly. "On the far side of the river."

"A boat?" Balin asked, placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and leaning forward to peer into the darknesss. He shook his head and pulled back to look questioningly at Bilbo. "I don't see a boat lad."

"Nor I," Thorin replied. He could vaguely make out the far shore, but he could see nothing that resembled a boat there.

"There's a boat, Uncle," Kíli replied. "I can see it. But it won't do us any good on that side of the river."

"It doesn't seem to be tied," Fíli chimed in. "Perhaps we could catch it and pull it to us."

"Even if we had something to catch it with," Bilbo cut in, "which we don't, I can't throw anything far enough to pull the boat over to us. Can you?"

"I think I can," Fíli replied with a smirk.

"Care to make a wager?" Nori asked with a smirk holding the three pronged hook from his pack aloft.

"You're on," Fíli replied accepting a coil of rope from Gloin and holding out his hand for the hook. "I bet that I can get it on the first try."

"I say he gets it on the second," Kíli replied with a smirk at his brother. This started a barrage of bets on when—or  _if_ —Fíli would manage to snare the boat. Only Bilbo and Thorin abstained from the bet—Bilbo because he had no gold to bet with and Thorin because even though he prayed that Fíli could do it, it would not be an easy task and he feared that the boy would fail but didn't want to dampen his spirits by actively betting against him.

In the end, Fíli did manage to snag the boat, receiving a smug grin from Kíli in payment since he did get it on the second try rather than the first. But there were bigger problems that his wounded ego: namely that he had been mistaken. It  _was_ tied. It took the combined strength of Dwalin, Dori, Gloin, Fíli and Kíli to finally free it and pull it to them.

"We're lucky that our rope was stronger, eh lads?" Bofur asked grinning down at the dwarves who had fallen when the other rope broke as they attempted to right themselves.

"Yeah, lucky," Kíli grumbled as he rubbed his aching side. As the last one in the line of dwarves, the others had fallen on him when the rope gave. He found himself wondering why it was always him that seemed to wind up on the bottom of the pile. First in the Goblin cave and now here in Mirkwood. He hoped that it was not about to become a recurring theme in the quest. He didn't have long to wallow in self-pity however, because his uncle was already giving out orders.

"Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo," Thorin said. "The three of you and I will go first. Climb into the boat."

"Are you sure that it's stable enough for that?" Bilbo asked quietly. When he had noticed that there was a boat it had never occurred to him that if they managed to get it he would have to  _use_  it. Hobbits, as a rule, avoided water and boats. The only exceptions were a few crazed Brandybucks. Even the Tooks knew enough to leave boats in peace. Bilbo had never even touched a boat before and the only swimming he could do was rather pathetic.

"Are you calling us fat?" Kíli asked elbowing the hobbit.

"I think he is brother," Fíli replied nudging Bilbo as well. When no stuttered protest met his jab, Fíli looked close at the hobbit and saw the fear that was evident in his eyes and the blank expression on his face.

"Bilbo?" Fíli asked quietly. "Are you alright?" The hobbit didn't answer and Fíli looked from Bilbo to Kíli in panic. Their burglar was broken. As one they both turned to look at their uncle, begging him to do something to unbreak the hobbit.

"Halfling?" Thorin snapped trying to shock Bilbo out of his stupor. "Burglar!" When the hobbit didn't even flinch, Thoirn sighed and walked over to him and grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to gently shake him out of it. That seemed to do the trick because Bilbo shook his head and looked up at Thoirn, his eyes abnormally confused.

"Thorin, what—"

"The boat," Thorin replied gesturing with his head. "You're supposed to be getting into it, not staring at it."

"I think I'll be fine right here, if it's all the same to you," Bilbo replied. He had no intention of getting into that leaky tub they were trying to pass of as a boat. Nearly being killed by orcs, goblins, wargs, stone giants and troll was more than enough excitement for him. He drew the line at boats.

"It's not," Thorin said with a raise of his eyebrow. Bilbo's behavior made no sense. He had been the one to see the boat. Why was he making such a fuss now? "Get in the boat."

"No," Bilbo said quickly. "I don't believe that I will."

"We don't have time for this," Thorin sighed misinterpreting Bilbo's reluctance to comply as stubbornness at the tone that Thorin had used to tell him to do so. "Please get in the boat."

"No."

"Now!" Thorin snapped. "Bilbo Baggins, you are being ridiculous! This was your idea. Just get into the boat so that we can be done with this accursed river and on our way to being done with this accursed forest."

"It was a bad idea," Bilbo said staring at the boat as though it were threatening him with bodily harm. Seeing his expression, Kíli stepped forward, interrupting what was sure to be another brilliant argument.

"Why don't you want to?" Kíli asked. "Do you want to say in Mirkwood forever? Or do you intend to go back to the wargs and the orcs that are looking for us that way? I doubt that they would be pleased to see you, not after you thwarted Azog's attempt to kill my uncle."

"No," Bilbo said slowly. "But . . ." Understanding dawned suddenly as Thoirn took in the apprehensive way that Bilbo was looking at the dark water. It was more than just distaste for the color that was in his eyes. It was fear of the water itself.

"You can't swim," Thorin said suddenly. Bilbo just looked at him, his blue eyes haunted and shook his head. He could keep his head above water in a still pond but not in something so swiftly moving, even without the added complication of the spell on it. As far as this situation was concerned, he couldn't swim.

The company exchanged glances at that. The hobbit couldn't swim? Most dwarflings could swim before they were stable on their feet. It was strange to them that a fully-grown hobbit was incapable of so simple a task. Thorin nodded sadly at the words. Bilbo's reluctance to board the boat now made sense. He now regretted yelling at the hobbit for his fears. Fears were a natural thing.

"You will be with us," Thorin said gently trying to reassure the hobbit and gesturing at Fíli and Kíli to enhance his point. "We can swim. We won't let you drown, will we boys?"

"No," Kíli said while Fíli replied with "Never."

"See," Thorin said taking the hobbit's hand and trying to coax him towards the water. "Everything will be fine. It's only a little river, after all." Despite himself, Bilbo allowed Thorin to lead him to the boat, Fíli and Kíli behind him. Even knowing that the three dwarves in the boat with him would not let him die in the river, he couldn't stop his limbs from shaking as Fíli pulled the boat away from the shore with the rope that they had managed to hook on a tree limb on the other side. Kíli stared at him with a sad smile while Thorin held the quaking hobbit in his arms and wished that he could do more to help him with his distress.


	13. Snags, Promises, Good News, and Honesty in the Dark

Despite Bilbo's fears, they made it safely across the black river. The boat did not sink and the river did not rise up and attempt to swallow them whole. Even so, he remained abnormally quiet and pale with a haunted look in his eyes even once his feet were firmly on the ground once more. Thorin had released him once they disembarked however he remained abnormally close to the traumatized hobbit while Fíli and Kíli did their level best to get a smile from him while he anxiously watched as the others pulled back the boat to begin the crossing.

"So you can't swim at all?" Kíli asked trying to draw Bilbo into a conversation. "Did you never learn or do hobbits not float?" When no answer came, the young dwarf continued talking. "Dwarves float, when we aren't  _too_  heavily armored. Even so, most of us can swim before we can walk. I would almost think that hobbits would float better than we do. Less density if you catch my drift. What do you think, brother?"

"I think you should pick a different topic," Fíli replied, seeing that not only had Bilbo's face become even more pinched as he realized that if they fell in the others would be greatly encumbered by their packs and weapons. The hobbit was beginning to turn an interesting shade of green, but as interesting as it was it could hardly be healthy.

"I agree," Thorin weighed in. So far nothing—not even his overly harsh treatment of him—had managed to dampen the hobbit's spirits and this was not a dampening but a breaking. They did not need to remind him of his lack of skills at this time. There would be time later to rectify the burglar's inability to swim when he wasn't already terrified.

"No more of this for now," Thorin said placing a hand on Bilbo's shoulder that was both protective and possessive. With his hand there, he could feel the hobbit's shoulders rising and falling with his rapid breathing: too rapid and far too shallow. He was still panicked.

"I have something," Fíli said, his voice bright. "You'll like this, Bilbo." The hobbit turned to look at the blonde dwarf, a slight curious tilt to his head. He had no idea what Fíli could say that he thought that Bilbo would like at the moment.

"This river, dark and loathsome as it is, is actually a good sign," Fíli said, a smile on his face. Thorin growled slightly. Hadn't he just told his nephews to leave off with the river? "You'll like this too, Uncle," Fíli said, his voice edging towards impatience that his uncle didn't seem to realize that he knew what he was doing.

"I will?" Thorin asked skeptically. He couldn't see where anything that Fíli had to say about that blasted river could be a good thing. What could possibly be good about a river that not only would put any who so much as touched it into a sleep and was thereby undrinkable—especially when they needed water—and that had also managed to upset his hobbit so severely?

"You will," Fíli promised before turning his attention to Bilbo. "When we were staying at Master Beorn's home we spent some time looking at maps, do you remember?" The hobbit nodded, wondering where Fíli was going with this. "Do you remember the map of Mirkwood? There was only one river on the map."

"What's your point?" Kíli asked. "Are you saying that he should be glad that we just have to cross the one?"

"No," Fíli replied shooting a mock glare at his brother. "I swear I wonder if we're actually related sometimes."

"Mother says we are," Kíli replied with a shrug, "Though sometimes I wonder about you, with your golden hair. I think you were switched at birth."

"He wasn't," Thorin said with a small sad smile. "I was there when they brought him out to us. The blonde hair was a bit of a surprise but not overly so. Your father was blonde, as was my brother. Blonde hair is not unheard of. He's your brother and my nephew, though some days I despair at having to claim either of you." Bilbo gave a small laugh at the indignant sounds Fíli and Kíli made at their uncle's words, and even Thorin had to chuckle.

"What were you going to tell us before Kíli sidetracked you, Fíli?" Thorin asked. If his heir was so sure that it was good news, he wanted to hear it. He could use something pleasant with all the unpleasantness that the quest had consisted of so far . . . and all that was sure to follow. He could never forget that at the end of it all a live dragon might await them.

"I was going to say that the river on the map marked the midpoint of the forest," Fíli said. "If the map was correct we are now halfway through Mirkwood."

"Did you just say that we're only halfway through this blasted forest?" Dwalin grumbled as he and Balin climbed from the boat.

"I heard that we only have half left to go," Balin replied smiling up at his dour brother. "So in three days, more or less, we should be out."

"Just three more days," Bilbo said, a smile back on his face for the first time since he and Thorin had argued earlier that day. "Three more days and I will get to see the sunlight again."

"It's only been three days since you last did, Hobbit," Dwalin said looking at him in confusion. Three days was not that long. And it hadn't been that dark either. The lighting was subdued, that was true enough, but it wasn't  _dark_  by any means.

"I've never been so long without the sun or the open sky before," Bilbo said honestly, the relief clear in his voice. "I think if it was going to be much longer I might have gone mad."

At his words a pang went through Thorin. Bilbo  _needed_  sunlight and open sky to be happy. Even though the King had never forgotten, he was reminded once again that Bilbo was not a dwarf: he was a hobbit. Even supposing that they were successful and everyone survived the quest, Bilbo needed things that he could not provide him. Sunlight; open sky; that garden that he had been so fond of; those were things that Bilbo would not have ready access to in Erebor. Once again, Thorin realized that things between them were complicated by more than just their races. The prospect that his own happiness would make the cause of it miserable caused him pain and again he questioned whether he was within his rights to attempt to woo the hobbit when in the end it would only cause them both anguish.

He glanced around quickly to see if the others had noticed his discomfort, but they—along with the newest arrivals of Dori, Nori, Ori, and Bofur—were still debating the relative merits of viewing the forest as half-crossed and half-left-to-go and had noticed nothing. Only Kíli had seen it and was looking at Thorin with a silent, worried question in his eyes. Thorin tried to smile reassuringly at him, but Kíli could see the pain underneath it. It was almost surprising that the youngest would be the one to see Thorin's anguish, but Kíli had always been perceptive of his uncle's moods and knew him better than most.

"It'll be alright, Uncle," Kíli whispered, a gentle smile on his face that comes from being young and naïve. "We'll find a way to let him see sunlight. You just worry about not scaring him off." Before Thorin could tell Kíli that it was not his place to give him instructions and to worry about his own business and not Thorin's, they were startled by the sound of hooves and a large body crashing through the undergrowth.

Thorin glanced around quickly, checking the positions of the various members of the company and seeing that Bilbo had been pushed behind Bofur and Dwalin while Glóin and Fíli stood a little to the side of them, weapons drawn and prepared for battle. Beside him, Kíli drew his bow and set an arrow on the string, his face showing surprise when his uncle did the same with one of the bows that Beorn had given them. He had never seen his uncle with a bow.

"You're not the only archer in this family," Thorin said with a laugh, his eyes back on the forest in the direction that the sound was coming from. Suddenly a giant black stag burst from the undergrowth, bowling Fíli over before continuing to run in the direction of the black river. Kíli and Thorin both loosed their arrows as it reached the edge and leaped. Though they both hit their mark, the stag did not fall when it hit the other side but rather continued on into the forest a ways before the sound of hooves faltered and stopped.

"Damn," Kíli muttered. Thorin felt a half-smile cross his face at his nephew's language. He might have expected it from Fíli, but Kíli was the sweeter of the two and rarely swore in Khuzdul or the Common Tongue. Rather than chastise him for his choice of words, since Thorin figured that if he was old enough to risk his life on a quest he was old enough to swear, Thorin tried to comfort him . . . sort of.

"We brought it down," Thorin said his humor apparent. It was clear to him that the fact that the stag had not died where it landed was what had upset Kíli. His nephew prided himself on his archery and with good reason. He rarely missed. This time had been no different. The stage just took longer to succumb to blood loss than they would have liked.

"Yes," Kíli replied, his tone showing that he didn't appreciate his uncle's merriment in light of their failure to bring it down where they could then eat it, "in the forest where we can't follow and find it."

"Don't worry Kíli," Fíli said, laughing at his brother. He too knew that it bothered Kíli that he hadn't made a clean kill. "Remember the squirrels? It probably would have tasted awful anyway."

"I doubt even Bombur could have eaten it," Bofur agreed with a laugh. "Not without the aid of the weed you boys disposed of so injudiciously, eh Bilbo?" Bilbo flushed to the roots of his hair at the reminder of him and Thorin eating that vile tree-rat while under the influence.

"I was hungry," Bilbo defended weakly, knowing that hunger, while the best seasoning, was a poor excuse for what they had done. Never before he came on this quest would he have ever  _dreamed_  of eating a squirrel any more than he would have eaten any other rat.

"So was Bombur," Bofur replied looking for his brother and not seeing him immediately. "He's always hungry and even  _he_  couldn't eat it. Right Bombur? Bombur?!" Panic flooding his veins, he searched the company desperately for his brother. The last place that he had seen him before the stag came had been by the river. Oh Mahal no! Had Bombur fallen in? He ran right up to the banks, looking for any sign of his brother and seeing none.

"Bombur!?" he called desperately, knowing that if he had fallen in the enchanted river it was in vain but unable to resist the urge to do it.

"Bofur!" He glanced frantically to the side as he heard his name in his brother's voice. He couldn't see him, only the boat. The boat! Rushing towards it, he saw that his brother had not fallen into the river, but rather into the boat.

"I can't get up," Bombur said with an apologetic smile. "I fell when the stag came, and now I can't get back out."

"That's because you eat too much," Bofur said his own smile fond and no heat behind the words. He was too relieved that his brother was still alive to seriously criticize his eating habits. "Don't worry, we'll figure out a way to get you from the boat. May take the whole company to lift you, but we'll manage it, right lads?"

The others grumbled a bit at the idea of having to lift Bombur bodily from the boat, but came over all the same to attempt to free him—the notable exceptions being Bilbo (who refused to go any nearer the river than he was but shouted encouragement) and Thorin (who felt that it would be best to remain near Bilbo and offer pointers of his own to the others). The major problem came in the fact that there was no way they could gain the leverage to lift him from the boat with it in the water without stepping in the water themselves and they couldn't get the boat out of the water due to the same problem. In the end, they decided that the only thing to do would be free the boat enough to let the rear end swing around and dump him onto dry land by tipping the boat. It worked well and soon all of the company was on dry land and prepared to continue the last half of the trek through Mirkwood.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The rest of the day's march was uneventful though the spirits of the company were lighter than they had been since before they entered Mirkwood. Thanks to Fíli and Bilbo's study of the maps, they knew that they were nearly done with the dank place. Even if it would be three more days before they were rid of it. Every step they took brought them one step closer to that goal and their ultimate goal of the mountain. Rather than the King's will to continue being the only thing that carried them forward, that evening Thorin had to repeat the order to stop after they begged to continue the first time he suggested it.

He finally decided that they would not march any farther, no matter what the company said, when more than one of them began stumbling with weariness and Bilbo began to trip forward rather than walk.

"We'll stop here for the night," Thorin said, his tone showing that he would accept no argument this time. With a sigh that was equal parts frustration and relief, the company began setting up a camp for the night. Thorin didn't miss the way that Bilbo's sigh was only one of relief or the weariness that was apparent as he sank to the ground next to where they were preparing a fire and began helping with the meal. With a sigh of his own Thorin sat beside the hobbit. It was apparent, in the way he glanced sidelong at the king, that Bilbo was still a bit agitated with him for his behavior earlier. Rather than apologize directly—as he had been in the right in his opinion—Thorin tried a different strategy to appease the hobbit.

"That was a good thing you did today," Thorin said, the words stilted. He wasn't used to offering praise, even when it was deserved, and especially not as an apology. "Spotting that boat," he clarified.

Bilbo only snorted in response. He still didn't see where spotting the boat had been all that wonderful. True he had gotten them across the river, but they had had to use a  _boat_. He had been on the water with only a few wooden planks separating him from death. That was not a good thing.

"I regret that it was so uncomfortable for you," Thorin offered quietly. "Had I have known that you cannot swim, I would have rectified that in one of the smaller safer streams that we have passed."

"No you wouldn't have," Bilbo replied a touch of bitterness in his voice and a wry smile on his face once more as he glanced up at the dwarf beside him. "Until recently you would have stood by and let me drown."

"I would have done no such thing!" Thorin snapped. He knew that he had been less than cordial to the hobbit, but he would not have let him die if it was in his power to prevent it. And not only because that would have left them with an unlucky number once more. Despite what he had told Gandalf, the hobbit, by joining the company, had been entitled to some level of protection: a level that had increased when he had agreed to allow Thorin to court him.

" Thorin," Bilbo said, his smile falling slightly, "you may not have let me drown, but you would not have taught me to swim and we both know it.  _Perhaps_  you would have asked one of the others to do it, but you would not have done it personally."

"Perhaps that is true," Thorin replied softly. "Even so I would not have stood by and watched you drown. Rescuing you from a river would have posed much less danger than rescuing you from the side of a cliff had and I did that."

"You did," Bilbo agreed with a soft smile at the memory of Thorin rescuing him. "That was when I realized that I loved you, you know," Bilbo added a bit of humor back in his voice.

"When I threw you back up the cliff?" Thorin asked watching as Bilbo's nimble fingers prepared vegetables to go in the pot with fascination as he wondered what else those fingers could do. Despite his _distracting_ thoughts, he did have to admit that he was surprised. He hadn't realized that Bilbo had harbored feelings for him for so long. He had thought that they were a more recent acquisition.

"No," Bilbo replied with another wry smile. "It was when you yelled at me afterwards." At Thorin's confused expression he continued the explanation. "The words hurt. More than they should have. It was then that I knew that I cared too much about pleasing you and what  _that_  meant. That was why I almost left that night. It wasn't what you had said. Not really. It was more that I knew . . . I knew that you could never—a simple hobbit—I had no  _right_  to feel like  _that_  about  _you._  So I decided to leave so that I wasn't forced to see you every day and know that I could never have you."

"So if we hadn't have been captured . . ."

"I would be back in the Shire pining for a dwarf King that I would never see again," Bilbo replied honestly. He let the conversation lapse into silence. He had nothing else that he needed to say and Thorin seemed to have nothing more to say either, having slipped into one of his contemplative silences once more. Bilbo smiled at him, seeing the faraway look in the King's blue eyes as he thought. The hobbit had known that Thorin would most likely not follow his declaration with one of his own, the King was too close-mouthed for that, but didn't regret that he had said it all the same.


	14. Log Books and More Braids

While Thorin brooded and Bilbo chopped vegetables for Bombur, Fíli decided that it was his turn to complete the log and took it from Bilbo's pack before settling himself on the ground beside his uncle to write. He read over what he brother had written the night before, adding a few things and amending others, before he began on the day's entry. Knowing that Gandalf had asked for a  _detailed_  log, Fíli included everything: from Thorin and Bilbo's spat to the river and the stag almost causing Bombur to fall in.

"Did you have to write  _that_ ," Thorin asked suddenly looking down at the book on his nephew's knees. "The old wizard didn't need to know about that."

"He asked for details, Uncle," Fíli responded with a shrug. "How many times have you told me that as your heir my personal life needs to be conducted in a manner beyond reproach since it is not truly personal? Even if that wasn't true, in this case it is relevant. Anything that sours your mood could potentially cloud your judgment. If we fail, and Gandalf finds this, the log might just tell him what went wrong."

"If we fail the why won't matter," Kíli said grimly from beside Fíli where he was redoing his brother's blonde braids while he wrote. "There is no one else to attempt it. Either we succeed or Erebor is forever lost."

"May I see the book?" Thorin asked ignoring Kíli's rare moment of seriousness. It wasn't truly a request, rather an order to hand it over masquerading as a request. With another shrug Fíli handed it to his uncle. Thorin flipped through it quickly, skipping the portions that he himself had written in favor of the entries by Ori, Fíli and Kíli. He bit back a groan as he did. All three of them had taken Gandalf's request for  _detailed_  entries quite literally.

Ori's had been the most detailed by far. He had recorded all of the little interactions and bickering that had taken place in the company—including Fíli and Kíli's prank and subsequent punishment—and Bilbo and Thorin's actions under the influence. Despite his embarrassment that Gandalf would read of what had happened, Thorin had to laugh. The dwarf had even included an apology for writing the log even though he wasn't Bilbo or Thorin.

Kíli's entry had focused more on his uncle and the hobbit, though he did mention that morale was low—which he attributed to Thorin's foul mood due to his prank the night before. While it made sense that Kíli would focus on people he cared the most for, it was not the purpose of a quest log. It should not detail the interactions between two members, but rather how far they had gotten, if any injuries had occurred, things of that sort. Not a reconciliation between the King and the burglar (no matter how it related to company morale).Kíli had stopped before the kiss occurred—as he had fallen asleep—but Fíli's handwriting had picked up the tale and completed it (including the kiss).

Fíli's entry, while a bit more professional than his brother's still held far too many personal details for Thorin's taste. Why did Gandalf need to know that he was unofficially courting the hobbit or that it had led to a spat? What business was it of his? And he had no doubt that the wizard was already aware of Bilbo's fear of water; did it need to be preserved forever in writing? He glanced to the end and saw that Fíli had completed the log before it was taken from him so rather than give it back to his nephew he stored the book in his own pack knowing that the boys would not dare to venture in after it.

"I'll be taking care of this from here on out," Thorin said, his tone inviting no argument on the matter. And none was forthcoming. The boys had little interest in writing a log every night and no one else felt that it was in their job description, save Bilbo who knew that depending on if they could get a fire or not he may or may not be able to do it.

Silence followed Thorin's words and Bilbo finished the vegetables and had just added them to the pot when the sound of a scuffle nearby startled him. The hobbit turned in the direction of the noise, his shaking hand falling to his little sword, to see Fíli pinning Kíli beneath him with a comb clutched in the older brother's hand. The others had already begun taking bets on which of the brothers would be victorious this time. Fíli and Kíli's epic battles over Kíli's hair were infamous in Ered Luin.

"What—" Bilbo began looking up at Thorin with wide blue eyes. He had never seen the boys roughhouse before, especially not with a comb. And it had happened so suddenly. Until a moment ago they have been sitting peacefully while Kíli finished Fíli's hair. What had happened to cause Fíli to attack Kíli so? Had Kíli pulled Fíli's hair?

"What are they doing?" Bilbo asked, inching closer to the wrestling brothers. It almost looked like Fíli was trying to comb Kíli's hair, but that made no sense. Such things were much more easily accomplished when the participants were not rolling on the ground. But Thorin's words confirmed his suspicions about what was happening.

"Fíli wants to try to arrange Kíli's hair," Thorin said with a laugh, shaking his head slightly. "He should know better by now. They have done this every so often since Fíli was old enough to want to practice braiding. Kíli hates it."

"If he hates it then why—"

"Because he  _should_  have braids," Fíli grunted, trying to restrain his brother and run the comb through his hair while answering Bilbo at the same time. "Even if he doesn't want them normally, on the road he should wear them. Even the  _hobbit_  has braids, Kíli!"

"I don't—OUCH!" Kíli protested. "That hurt! Don't pull so hard!"

"If you would let me at least comb it more often or wouldn't fight me it wouldn't hurt!" Fíli argued, now sitting in the middle of Kíli's back with his legs wrapped around his still thrashing brother. "Now hold still!"

"Uncle please," Kíli begged turning his head to look at Thorin with wide brown eyes. "Don't let him do this. Not here. Not in front of  _everyone_!"

"If you don't want him to hold you down," Thorin replied calmly, his eyes twinkling with mirth, "then sit up and allow him to comb out the tangles like an adult. I don't disagree with Fíli. Just like with Bilbo, your hair being in your eyes is dangerous. If he has to restrain you to braid you, so be it."

"Uncle!" Kíli tried again. "This is not dignified." He hoped that appealing to the pride of the line of Durin would make Thorin see his side and have him telling Fíli to free him. It backfired.

"No," Thorin agreed. "Not dignified in the least. Now sit up and allow him to do as he must. Enough of this." Kíli gave a growl of frustration, but stopped his struggles and allowed Fíli to lead him back to the place they had occupied only moments before.

His wasn't the only growl. The rest of the company grumbled as they passed yet more gold to Dwalin who had bet that neither boy would win because Thorin would put a stop to it. They were quickly deciding that when Dwalin participated in a bet—especially if it involved the heirs of Durin—they would decline to participate. If things kept up at this rate, they would be broke before they reached Erebor.

Kíli was beyond unhappy. He glared at his uncle and brother like they wanted to use him as dragon bait, not braid his hair. Thorin, especially, was subjected to his nephew's disapproval. Never before had he taken a side. In the past he had always been content to sit by and watch as the boys fought for dominance. Kíli felt betrayed. A sentiment that was intensified when Thorin—having seen Kíli's sour looks—asked Fíli to fetch Kíli's comb from his pack so that they could be done more quickly.

"This is for your own good, lad," Thorin whispered as he took the comb and began to gently untangle Kíli's wild hair. "Don't worry; it'll just be a few little braids. Nothing too elaborate." When Kíli said nothing, Thorin sighed. His nephew was sulking.

"Would you prefer them to match Fíli's or mine?" Thorin asked hoping for an answer. "Or do you want something else entirely?" With a sigh, Kíli responded.

"You choose," the young dwarf replied, defeated. "I don't care."

"Do you mind—that is to say . . . may I watch?" Bilbo said suddenly. He felt his face grow hot as all three of them turned to look at him. "I know that braiding is a private thing, very personal, and I wouldn't dare to intrude so far as to ask to participate, but may I watch. I don't know the first thing about how to do it." Thorin and Fíli shifted uncomfortably at the question. Neither of them objected to Bilbo watching, but it wasn't their place to invite him—not even Thorin's—as it was Kíli's head that was being braided and they weren't sure how he would take it.

"Of course you can watch," Kíli said smiling warmly at the hobbit.  _Bilbo_  hadn't been the one to force this on him after all. There was no need to be angry with him. And with him watching, Kíli could almost pretend that he was helping to integrate the hobbit into dwarf culture not being assaulted by his relatives.

"And if you'd like," Kíli offered, "I wouldn't mind if you participated. I trust you and you're nearly family after all, what with you and Uncle courting."

"Well thank you but I couldn't possibly," Bilbo tried to protest only to have it waved away by the youngest Durin. "I'll just make a mess of it. And—"

"Yes you can. I insist," Kíli replied cutting off the hobbit's protests. "We can't have Uncle walking around with lopsided braids, can we? Mine won't stay in long enough to matter so there's no harm in you practicing on me. Unless Uncle objects."

Thorin thought about it a moment. While he wasn't sure that he wanted Bilbo to braid another dwarf's hair, Kíli would be a good candidate if it had to happen. And this way he could guide the hobbit's hand through the braids rather than just instruct him. Also, any knots that Bilbo tied in his attempts to learn would be in his nephew's hair rather than his own. No, he had no objections.

"Come, Halfling," Thorin said with a smile, standing to offer Bilbo his place beside Kíli and standing over Bilbo with his arms around the hobbit and his hands over his.

"The first step to braiding," Thorin said quietly into Bilbo's ear—the warm breath over the sensitive flesh causing the hobbit to shiver—while they worked together on Kíli's mats, "is to get all the tangles out of the hair you're working with. If there are knots, it can ruin the tension or even the smoothness of the weave." Thorin said nothing more, but simply guided Bilbo's hands in Kíli's hair until the dark locks were free of tangles and laying more-or-less smoothly.

"Next, you must select the site and style of the braid," Thorin explained as he sectioned off some hair at Kíli's temple. "Since this is your first time we will do something simple. Three strands, with no additional hair added as it comes back. Give me your hands." Thorin took Bilbo's hands in his own, lining up their fingers and guiding the hobbit through the act of subdividing the section he had already created into three equal parts.

"It's also important to know where you intend to go with the braid," Fíli explained. "If you want it to lay along his head, you will need to braid it in that direction otherwise it will stick out oddly when you are done." Bilbo nodded to show that he understood and then he and Thorin began braiding. It was simple really, once he understood the pattern and soon he had reached the end of the braid, feeling mighty proud of himself.

Proud of himself that is until Fíli saw it and laughed. Bilbo looked at it in confusion. What had he done wrong? There weren't any gaps and the hair was holding together. Wondering what Fíli's looked like, he looked at the other side of Kíli's head and saw the difference. Where Fíli's braid was sleek and uniform, braided tightly enough that it seemed to be carved into the hair rather than separate strands woven together, Bilbo's was loose in places and tight in others, with an obvious scalloping on the sides. He'd failed.

"It's not bad for a first attempt," Thorin said patting the hobbit. "If I recall, Fíli's first attempt at a braid left a knot in my hair that it took the combined efforts of Dís and me  _hours_ to remove. I'm still not sure how he did it. You'll eventually learn tension with practice. If you would like another try, my braids could probably use redoing as well."

At the offer, Bilbo shook his head vehemently. "I can't," he said his voice high and panicked. "I can't do it. I failed such a simple task and as Kíli said, you can't be seen in lopsided braids. You don't want me to do it."

"No one here will comment, Bilbo," the King said gently as he undid the clasps on his own braids while Fíli gathered both of his brothers and clasped them at the back of his head, leaving Bilbo's lumpy braid as it was rather than replacing it with a smooth one of his own. Bilbo felt a wave of regret. Kíli already hated having braids and now he had one beautiful dwarf braid and one clumsy hobbit braid. He was lopsided. He would never consent to be braided again once the others were through making fun of him.

"But—"

"It'll be alright," Thorin promised. "Even if you do manage to tie my hair in knots. You will only get better through practice. I don't mind a few bad braids. Besides, most of mine are concealed. It will be fine." With a sigh, Bilbo began to undo the plaits in Thorin's hair. Again he was struck by the texture of it, surprised by the softness. Once all the clasps were in one of Thorin's hands and all the braids undone, the King handed him a comb. Bilbo began trying to comb the tangles out as he had seen Fíli and Thorin do for Kíli, but stopped when the King winced.

"I'm sorry!" Bilbo cried releasing the comb, which remained in Thorin's hair having become ensnared in a persistent knot.

"It is fine" Thorin said. "Try starting at the ends. It should help avoid pulling." Bilbo sighed and fought the comb free of the knot before beginning at the ends. It was strangely soothing, the repetitiveness of the combing and soon Bilbo found himself talking. For the first time, he now understood the intimateness of the act. There was a good deal of trust in it. With the way you had to grasp the hair to keep it from pulling, it would be too easy for someone standing behind you to grab a handful of hair and slit your throat before you even knew it. Even as his mind shied away from the mental image with revulsion, he had to smile. It was nice to be trusted, to be allowed so close. It filled him with warmth and the warmth gave him the daring to ask a question he had been meaning to ask all day.

"I have a question," Bilbo said with no lead up or preamble. Thorin hummed in response but said nothing. "Why? Why did you react the way you did today? I don't understand what we did to upset you. I mean, I know that he touched me, but why did that upset you so?"

Thorin took a deep breath to tamp down his jealously once more. He didn't appreciate the reminder of what Bilbo and Bofur had done. Bilbo was  _his_  after all. But the question had been so soft. So innocent. Perhaps Bilbo truly didn't know what he had done. The thought had never occurred to the King and it alone tempered his anger.

"What do you know of dwarvish courtship customs?" Thorin asked quietly instead of answering Bilbo's questions.

"Nothing," the hobbit replied sadly and honestly. "That was why I went to Bofur. I hoped that he could explain them to me so you didn't think me worthless."

"I could never think that," Thorin said, hurt that Bilbo could think that he was capable of that, even as part of his mind remided him that he had said as much in the past and that until recently it had been clear that he had detested Bilbo's presence. Though it hadn't been for the reason Bilbo thought. He hadn't though him worthless, rather the converse. He couldn't stand the thought of seeing something so small and so sheltered marred by the world. He had wanted him to get discouraged and go home before he got hurt. It just hadn't come across that way. Thorin knew that he should tell the hobbit the truth, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. So instead he let Bilbo think that his mind had changed about his worth as a person not his ability to cope with the world.

"You  _did_ ," Bilbo reminded him. "Even said it on numerous occasions, remember? I didn't want to revisit that so I figured that I would ask someone else. Balin was busy, Fíli and Kíli . . . I decided not to use them." Thorin didn't blame him. If he needed a straight answer his nephews would not be the first person he would go to if he were anyone other than their uncle or their mother.

"So you went to Bofur," Thorin said, feeling slightly ashamed at his actions. Bilbo had sought help from a friend and he had gotten jealous, which Bilbo hadn't known to expect. He should have explained it to Bilbo himself rather than assume that courtship customs were the same between the races. He might owe the hobbit a true apology.

"Yes," Bilbo replied his voice distracted as he worked at a rather stubborn knot. "So how do dwarven courtship customs lead to the reaction you had to Bofur and my interaction?"

"Dwarves," Thorin began, searching for the right words to explain this to a hobbit. "Dwarves are jealous creatures. We guard our secrets and those that we care about with a passion. There are certain actions, intimacies, that are reserved only for family and lovers. A touch like the one Bofur used today is one of those things. Intentional body contact, it is reserved for siblings, parents or lovers, neither of which you are to him despite your friendship."

"That's why I've never seen dwarves hug!" Bilbo exclaimed. "I'd wondered about that. Other than the hug that you gave me and one that I witnessed between Balin and Dwalin I've never seen it. Not even Fíli and Kíli and they're the touchiest of the dwarves."

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "Until I asked you to court me I should never have hugged you the way I did, or lifted you from the stream and tried to carry you back to camp. I overstepped myself and for that I apologize."

"No you didn't," Bilbo replied. "Not in my book. Hobbit's don't do  _casual_  contact the way that dwarves do, with your little brushes and small touches, but hugging is not frowned upon among friends. It's almost expected. I was shocked that it was  _you_  that hugged me—I wasn't aware that we were friends—but the hug itself did not upset me."

"So, what else does dwarven courtship entail?" Bilbo asked wondering what else he had agreed to. He could curb his need to touch others if he needed to but what else would Thorin expect of him. He knew that he would have to submit to their traditions as he was with them, but he hoped that it would be nothing too trying.

"Official or unofficial?" Thorin asked. "The rules are slightly different between the two."

"Let's stick with unofficial, shall we?" Bilbo said with a wry smile as he ran his fingers experimentally through Thorin's thick hair trying to see if there were more tangles he couldn't see and gently working one out when his fingers snagged. "We'll worry about the other rules when we come to them."

"Unofficial courtship rules are fairly simple," Thorin said, his voice falling into a lecture pattern that he had used many times when Fíli and Kíli were growing up. "The underlying idea behind all of them is commitment to the other. There is an understanding that even though we are not married, we are together and that neither of us will seek another while the courtship continues. Courtship, unofficial or official, is a thing of mutual possession."

"How far does this extend?" Bilbo asked. "Are you going to get angry and jealous if I, say, smile at Ori? Or would it take a hug or other body contact to spark it?" Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose at the question. What did Bilbo want, for him to have Balin draw up a contract with what could and could not happen during their courtship? Perhaps it would be easier . . .

"How do hobbits court?" Thorin asked suddenly cutting off another scenario Bilbo was coming up with as he attempted to see just how much of an imposition dwarvish courtship would be on the hobbit and if they should perhaps reach a compromise of sorts, some hybrid courtship ritual that would be agreeable to them both.

"Pardon me?" Bilbo asked, having not heard the question as he had been in the middle of a rant before Thorin cut him off.

"Hobbits," Thorin repeated. "How do you court?"

Bilbo laughed in response and began to attempt to section off a chunk of Thorin's hair as the King had done for Kíli. It was more difficult than he had thought it would be. "Hobbit courting is nothing like dwarf courting," Bilbo replied. "We're not so much about possession as mutual trust. Most hobbits court a few times before marriage happens, experimenting and finding the right partner before settling down. And at no point, even at the ceremony itself, is a courtship unable to be dissolved."

"And you," Thorin asked quietly not sure if he truly wanted the answer. He suspected that Bilbo had courted many times before. "Have you courted before?"

"No," Bilbo replied sadly. "I was never interested in courting." Thorin sighed, even though that was the answer his heart wanted, it ached to hear the sadness in Bilbo's voice.

"Why?" the King asked. "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Bilbo said. "I don't truly know. I guess I was never that interested. Could have had something to do with a lack of mutual attraction. At any rate, I had contented myself to remain a bachelor forever until you lot showed up."

The king had no reply to that and before he could attempt to think of one, Bilbo let out a little noise of frustration. "So stupid!" Bilbo muttered darkly."I can't believe . . . I'm hopeless."

"What are you murmuring about?" Thorin asked wanting to turn his head to look at the hobbit but unable to move due to the hold Bilbo had on his hair.

"I'm a fool," Bilbo replied with a sigh. Thorin raised an eyebrow to encourage the hobbit to elaborate before realizing that Bilbo couldn't see his face and that he would have to ask.

"Why do you say that?" Thorin asked.

"You're going to laugh," Bilbo said with a wry laugh, "or perhaps be angry, but I have no idea where your braids go and I know that you dwarves are particular about your braids. I'll just get one of your nephews, shall I?"

Rather than get angry, Thorin did laugh. Bilbo truly knew nothing of dwarven courtship. "It is fine, hobbit," the king promised. "As my mate you are allowed to arrange my hair as you see fit. Changing braids your mate has always worn is one of the signs of a successful courtship. Place them wherever you would like. All I will ask is that you secure the hair in the front out of my face. Outside of that, the choice is yours."

Rather than reassure the hobbit, Thorin's words upset him. The king wanted him not to duplicate but to create? He couldn't even manage the simplest braid and Thorin wanted him to . . . he couldn't do it! It was too much pressure and he felt panic begin to seize him. Kíli might not care what his hair looked like, but he was young and the butt of many jokes anyway but Thorin . . . he was a king, a cool, distant figure. Majestic even and he wanted Bilbo to . . . he never should have agreed to this. It was beyond him.

"Bilbo," Thorin said gently, having heard the hobbit's sharp intake of breath and his now panicked breathing. "Halfling! It will be alright. You are not stuck with the style you choose tonight forever. Would it help if for tonight I guide you like I did with Kíli's braid?" Bilbo nodded and Thorin took the hobbit's hands in his own again before he sectioned off a chunk of his own hair and began to braid it.

"You-you seem practiced at this," Bilbo said with a weak laugh.

"I've been braiding my own hair since I was thirty, Halfling," Thorin replied. "I should be practiced."

"Can you not do that?" Bilbo asked suddenly, his tone strange. He was slightly uncomfortable with asking the king not to do something, but this had been bothering him since the moment Thorin had walked through his door and he could keep silent no longer.

"Do what?" Thorin replied. He wasn't aware that he had done anything wrong.

"Call me 'Halfling'," Bilbo replied. "I don't mind if you want to call me 'hobbit' or even 'burglar', though I do prefer Bilbo, but not 'Halfling'."

"Does the term offend you?" Thorin asked. He hadn't realized that 'Halfling' was an offensive term. He had thought that it was what they were called. That was what he had always heard them called, when they were spoken of at all.

"A bit," Bilbo replied. "We prefer to be called hobbits, or Shirefolk."

"I wasn't aware that it was offensive," Thorin replied, his hands stilling on the braid. "I will try to not use it again. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Bilbo replied brusquely. "You didn't know and now you do. Come! Let's finish these braids so that we can eat dinner. It should be ready soon." With a slight nod, Thorin resumed the act of guiding Bilbo through the braid, pausing briefly as he felt what he almost thought were the hobbit's lips press against the back of his hand. He thought Bilbo had kissed him, but the sensation was gone so quickly that he couldn't be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what happened to this chapter. It turned into a giant ball of fluff and dialogue . . . nearly 5000 words and nothing really happened—plot wise anyway. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, that's all for now folks! I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you thought (even if you hated it) so please leave me a review if you have time and/or feel so inclined.
> 
> Stickdonkeys


	15. Contracts, Child's Play, and a Defiant Hobbit

Bilbo had been right. Dinner had been nearly ready and it was actually already in the bowls before Bilbo and Thorin finished. By the time they sat down to their own dinner, the rest of the company had already finished eating. Though the meal had been quickly, there had been no hostility to the pace. There was a levity in the air that came from knowing that they would soon be out of the forest and it infected everything they did with eagerness and haste.

Despite Bilbo’s fears, no one had teased Kíli about his lopsided braids. They all remembered _their_ first attempts at braiding too well to tease the hobbit—by means of Kíli—for his. Thorin had been right when he had said that Bilbo had done a decent job for a first attempt which Kíli wore proudly—or as proudly as Kíli ever wore braids—and they found other light topics to discuss as they ate their meal.

But despite the improved morale Fíli’s realization had brought them, there was no singing or trading of tales once the meal was eaten that night. Instead, while Bilbo and Thorin ate their dinner, the others unrolled their bedding and they sought the warm embrace of sleep rather than the comfort of good company. Once they finished their meal, Thorin and Bilbo followed their examples, bedding down together near Fíli and Kíli as was becoming their custom. They were soon drawn into sleep, both soothed by the solid warmth of the other.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The next morning—if you could call it that since the forest was not truly any lighter than it had been when they went to sleep—Bilbo was awakened by dwarves that were eager to continue their journey. They were even eager enough to forgo a proper breakfast—or any breakfast. The prospect of a long day’s march with did not sit well with the resident hobbit. But he knew that they would not be swayed so instead of trying, Bilbo grumbled under his breath at the idea of missing yet _another_ meal as he rolled up his bedding.

“A hobbit will starve to death at this rate,” he muttered as he secured his bedroll to his pack with a muted curse on the stubbornness of dwarves not even bothering to make sure that said dwarves were out of earshot before he did. He didn’t particularly care if any of them heard or were offended by his words at the moment. They were being both stubborn and foolish. How far did they think that they would get if they didn’t take the time to eat?

He didn’t even notice Thorin raise an eyebrow at his words. The dwarf King had heard everything that Bilbo had said and rather than be offended, he found that he was amused. He smiled fondly at the hobbit and, rather than call him out and embarrass him, ordered the company to delay long enough to break their fast.

The company grumbled a bit at the delay, but none of them challenged him on it. If they had, he had an excuse ready—other than that they couldn’t starve _his_ hobbit. Dwarves might be sturdy folk, but they still needed to eat. It would only slow them down later if they allowed themselves to begin on empty stomachs. Besides, their provisions were holding well and there were only three more days of forest left. There was no reason for them to tighten their belts just yet, and once they were out of the forest they could begin hunting game again and, perhaps, acquire fish from the Forest River or even the River Running.  At any rate, fishing would give the others something to do, other than gawk, while he fulfilled his promise to Bilbo.  He would teach the hobbit how to swim if it drowned them both.

Desptie their grumbling at the delay, the company did not argue with him. Rather they sat down on their packs and entertained themselves while Bombur arranged a proper breakfast. They had wanted to argue that they were wasting valuable daylight, but they had seen the glint in Thorin’s eyes and knew that any argument would prove futile. He would not be swayed in this. No one dared to say it, but they knew that the cause of the delay was none other than Bilbo Baggins.

Thorin would have no objection to starting a march on an empty stomach—they had done it countless times before. But upsetting Bilbo . . . that he would object to. So since Bilbo would object to having no breakfast, Thorin now objected to it. Not that they bore him any ill-will for it. It would be a long day and breakfast would be nice, besides it truly was too dark to be beginning a trek at any rate and a few more moments delay wouldn’t hurt anything.

Balin, in particular, had no objections to a rest before they started. He had been on watch the night before and was more than happy at the prospect of a nap before the day began in earnest. So when he heard Thorin call his name just after he had closed his eyes, he looked at his King with a sigh. Thorin raised an eyebrow at his oldest friend’s expression but didn’t say anything about it.

“I require a word,” Thorin clarified. “In private.”

“Only one word, Thorin?” Balin asked with a wry smile. Which earned him a small glare in response.

“Perhaps more words than I had originally intended if you keep that up,” Thorin replied before walking away from the others without looking over his shoulder. He knew that Balin would follow him. With another sigh Balin got to his feet and followed his moody leader into the gloom.

When Balin decided they were far enough away, he spoke. “What is it that you wanted to talk about that you needed to pull me away from the others for, laddie?” Balin asked, his tone revealing his exasperation with Thorin. “I can’t even think of what it could possibly be and usually I can guess what you are thinking before you even know it, most likely.”

“I doubt that,” Thorin replied with a laugh. “However my transparency is not the issue here. I have a task that requires doing and there is no one else I would trust with it.”

“Not even yourself?” Balin asked with a smile. If it was important enough to merit a clandestine meeting, Balin was surprised that Thorin was delegating it at all. He tended to keep such tasks to himself.

“No, not even me,” Thorin replied. “I’m afraid that I would not be able to do this impartially. When you have the time, I need you to draw up an unofficial courtship contract for me.” Balin wouldn’t have been more surprised if Thorin had struck him. A contract? He knew that relations between royals were more formal than between the rest of them but he didn’t realize that Thorin’s courting the hobbit would require a contract. Or perhaps it was a hobbit thing and if not, what did Bilbo think of all this paperwork?

“A contract?” Balin asked incredulously. He had never heard of such a thing happening before. Just as there were no actual _written_ rules to courtship—though the rules were well understood—courtship itself didn’t require documentation.

“Yes, a contract,” Thorin replied as though he hadn’t noticed Balin’s tone, though the impacience in his own tone showed that he had. “Yesterday Bilbo and I got into a . . . spat over the differences in courtship rituals between our races and I decided that a contract would be the easiest way to reach an agreement on how best to proceed. If you will draw up the terms that generally apply to an unofficial dwarven courtship, he and I—with you as an impartial mediator, of course—will decide which we will follow and which we will disregard in favor of hobbit traditions once you are done.” Balin shifted uncomfortably at the request. It wasn’t that he would have difficulty completing it—he could probably have it done that evening. It was more that he felt uncomfortable _doing_ it.

“And . . . have you spoken with the hobbit about this?” Balin asked cautiously. It was clear that Thorin cared for the hobbit, but for all their _physical_ attraction Balin wasn’t sure that their relationship would work out in the end. Especially not if Thorin _truly_ believed that Bilbo would appreciate being presented with an official contract for something that should just happen naturally. In fact, a contract might just make the need to have it null and void. Bilbo might just put a stop to it all.

“No,” Thorin replied, his tone showing that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind to do so. “Why should I have? He asked me what was expected of him and I am presenting him with the expectations. I see no reason to discuss it with him beforehand when the contract will speak for itself.” Balin shook his head but said nothing.

“So you truly want this?” the white-headed dwarf asked with a sigh. If Thorin had his mind made up Balin knew that even he couldn’t sway him. Thorin was possibly the most stubborn dwarf in the whole of Middle Earth.

“I do,” Thorin replied steadily. He didn’t understand why Balin was acting like he had asked him to face down Smaug by himself. It was a simple contract—much easier than the other thirteen that he had drawn up. It should not be causing him this much anguish.

“Then I’ll see it done, lad,” Balin replied with a smile. “I’ll have your contract for you by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Good!” Thorin cried, smiling at him and clapping him on the back before walking back to camp.

“Oh, Thorin,” Balin muttered under his breath as he followed his friend and king. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

**ooOO88OOoo**

Back at camp, the others had all settled down to await breakfast. Thorin and Balin leaving was a non-issue, not even worthy of gossip, the two of them always had their heads together planning the next stage of the journey so them leaving together didn’t even truly register.

Bilbo, Fíli, Kíli, Bofur and Ori had clustered together over by where Bombur was cooking and Bilbo was showing them a hobbit game with a couple of pebbles and laughing merrily as the dwarves failed at it.

“Children in the Shire play this game all the time,” Bilbo teased Kíli as he failed yet again to knock Bilbo’s stone from the circle.

“Yes, well, I’m sure that hobbit children have stones that are properly round as well. These irregular things do not roll properly,” Kíli sulked flinging one of his stones at Bilbo when the hobbit managed to knock his latest stone from the ring yet again.

“Hey now!” Bilbo laughed as he dodged Kíli’s projectile. “None of that now! Is this how dwarf games go? Once one of you begins to lose it becomes a brawl?”

“Pretty much,” Fíli agreed, knocking Bilbo’s stone from the circle and earning a glare from Kíli for his troubles. “Especially when you play with _dwarflings_.”

“You are only five years older than me!” Kíli snapped rounding on his smirking brother, murder in his brown eyes. Fíli knew better than to call him a dwarfling. Only their Uncle or their mother could get away with that . . . and perhaps Bilbo.

“True,” Fíli agreed, his smirk only growing at his little brother’s rage. He knew that his next words would push Kíli over the edge but couldn’t resist the urge to say them. They still had unfinished business from the night before and Thorin wasn’t there to put a stop to it this time.

 “But those five years are enough to make _me_ an adult and you a child,” Fíli finished his taunt, already bracing for the impact that he knew would follow.

“Really?” Kíli demanded before he launched himself at his brother, bowling Fíli over and ruining the game in the process. The two brothers rapidly turned what had been a peaceful game into a wrestling match. A fairly evenly matched wrestling match. Kíli was a little larger, but Fíli seemed to be stronger and neither of them could properly get the upper hand. Once again, bets were taken on who would win and the impromptu contest soon had the entire company—with the exception of Thorin and Balin—for an audience. They were so engrossed in the spectacle that they didn’t notice Thorin and Balin return.

Despite his return, Thorin was content to let it play out as it would this time. If he interfered, the two of them would only wait until later for a rematch since they would claim that neither of them had won and would never be content with a draw. Besides, he was almost curious as to which of them would win. While Fíli had been nearly victorious the night before, this time, for a moment, it looked as though Kíli had won. He was sitting on his brother, grinning down triumphantly.

“Who’s the child now?” Kíli demanded with a smirk. Thorin shook his head at his youngest nephew’s foolishness. Kíli should have kept his mouth shut. Fíli would never stand for such a taunt. Seconds later Fíli proved him correct by flipping Kíli off of him and pinning him.

“I don’t know, dear Brother,” Fíli replied with a laugh. “Which of us is the child?” Kíli sputtered indignantly and Thorin decided to spare him the shame of actually having to surrender.

“If that is what this is about, it was a wasted fight,” Thorin said, fighting to hide his amusement. “If you had asked me I could have settled this easily. You are _both_ still children. Now get off the ground before you knock over the pot or burn yourselves.”

“Yes, Uncle,” they both replied, Fíli climbing off his brother before helping him off the ground as well. Even if their tones had been tones of proper chagrin, the twinkle in their eyes and the smirks on the faces showed that they knew they weren’t actually in trouble with him.

Too bad Bofur didn’t realize the same thing. As the King surveyed the rest of the company Bofur suddenly realized just how close he was to Bilbo once more. The hobbit, in an attempt to keep from being crushed by the brawling princelings had nearly crawled into Bofur’s lap. Having been on the receiving end of Thorin’s jealousy the day before, and not particularly wanting a repeat of it, the miner scooted away from the hobbit and stood to leave.

“What are you—“ Bilbo began only to stop once he saw the slight panic in Bofur’s brown eyes. He glanced around quickly and realized that since Thorin had returned he now had a little bubble of space around himself. Even Ori and Glóin had moved away from him. That was the last straw for the hobbit. With a look of determination on his face, he reached up and grabbed Bofur by the wrist and pulled him back down beside him, ignoring the pleading in his eyes.

Without releasing his hold on Bofur, he pulled Ori towards him as well, ignoring the panic that flashed through Dori’s eyes at his act and the way that Nori shifted surreptitiously closer to them—preparing himself to interfere if necessary. In fact, the entire company held their breath as Bilbo glared up at Thorin, his eyes hard and the challenge clear there.

“They don’t have to go anywhere, do they?” Bilbo asked, his voice deceptively sweet though his expression was anything but. His eyes clearly said _I have no intention of giving up my friends, now what are you going to do about it?_

Thorin looked at Bilbo’s pale, small hand wrapped around the wrists of Bofur and Ori and felt jealousy begin to rear its head. Bilbo had never even touched _him_ that way before. It was clear even from where he stood that the touch was both firm and delicate at the same time. And the look in his blue eyes. . . Bilbo knew exactly what he was doing to Thorin. And then with a sarcastic smile, Bilbo threw an arm around each of them—much to the dismay of both of their various family members—and tilted his head to the side.

“Well, My King, what do you say? Can they stay?” Bilbo asked. He felt a rush of what was almost fear rush through him as Thorin stalked over to them. Perhaps he had over-played his hand? As Thorin glared down at him, he couldn’t quite place the expression on his face. It didn’t quite look like rage, or hunger, though there was a little bit of both there.

“ _They_ can stay,” Thorin growled before grabbing Bilbo by the arm—his hold gentle but insistent—and pulling him to his feet. “ _You_ , however, need to come with me.” Bilbo looked around with wide eyes, begging someone to help him. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had just done, but he did remember what had happened the last time that Thorin had drug a pair of someones into the woods alone. Surely the King wouldn’t . . . not him! His nephews were one thing but . . . The last thing that Bilbo saw before the gloom consumed the others were the shocked expressions of the others and the sympathetic smiles of Fíli and Kíli. 


	16. Uncomfortable Questions, an Impudent Hobbit and an Insufferable Dwarf

The company watched as Thorin dragged Bilbo down the path and into the gloom of the forest. The pitiful look that the hobbit gave them as he wordlessly pleaded for help about broke their hearts, but none of them would defy Thorin when he was in a rage. So instead, they stood there, looking in the direction that their King and Burglar had gone, hoping that if Thorin intended to punish the hobbit he would at least take him far enough away that they would not have to bear witness to it.

Their hopes of not hearing anything proved to be in vain when a startled cry in Bilbo's voice wafted back to them through the gloom followed shortly after by a moan. Fíli and Kíli paled at the sound—had Thorin actually hurt Bilbo? They had only thought that it would be a lecture— but the rest of the dwarves—especially the more  _worldly_  ones—felt color rise up their faces. That had not been a cry of pain.

"We have to help him," Kíli breathed, moving to charge down the path only to be stopped by Glóin's hand on his arm.

"Trust me, lad," the other dwarf said shaking his head indulgently. "Neither of them will welcome an interruption at the moment."

"But Uncle is going to hurt him!" Kíli cried trying to wrench his arm from his cousin's grasp. Even if Bilbo had crossed the line, Thorin was about to cross a different one and Kíli knew that he had to stop him before it came to it and his uncle did damage to his relationship that he could never repair.

"Perhaps he will, lad," Bofur said with a laugh. "However, I'm not sure that Bilbo will protest it even if he does. Might even enjoy it." Kíli's brown eyes narrowed as he looked from the miner to his cousin before looking at the rest of the company and seeing the same expression on all their faces. He couldn't understand why Bilbo would  _enjoy_  being injured by his uncle. He glanced at his brother for assistance, only to see that Fíli had looked away from him, his face flushed bright red. Fíli had figured it out.

Fíli hadn't recognized the look on his uncle's face as he drug the hobbit out of camp, but now he did. And with realization that he had just seen lust on his uncle's face came embarrassment and a feeling that was very much akin to horror. He was disturbed by the newest turn of events. There was no reason that he should have ever seen  _that_  emotion on his uncle. Kíli was still in the dark about what had just happened and Fíli would have preferred that it remain that way, but Kíli just kept talking.

"Why?" Kíli asked quietly. He couldn't stand the fact that everyone knew what was going on except for him. "Why would Bilbo enjoy it if Uncle hurts him?" It was too much for the others; his wide innocent eyes undid them. They almost felt bad for the fact that they now had to explain it to him. It wasn't their place, not really, to tell him that his uncle and the hobbit were most likely engaging in  _carnal_  acts in the forest.

"Lad," Bofur began slowly finding that the words wouldn't come so he tried again. "Kíli, do you remember the chat I had with Dwalin the night that your uncle and Bilbo discussed courtship?" Kíli shook his head, only more confused by the question. He had been asleep for it and had no idea what Bofur was talking about.

"How much do you know about what happens between couples?" Dori asked, attempting to discover how much they were about to corrupt the young dwarf and if Thorin would kill them for it later.

"What do you mean?" Kíli asked. He vaguely knew what happened between couples. He had never done it, but he had overheard it occasionally in a tavern or inn. He wasn't  _exactly_  sure what it entailed, but he knew that if the couple were a male and a female it could lead to offspring. But surely that was not what they thought was happening. He couldn't reconcile the image he had of his uncle with the idea of him doing  _THAT_  and with  _Bilbo_. Neither of them seemed like sexual creatures to the Kíli. It was just too strange to think of the two of them doing it  _together_.

The dwarves exchanged nervous glances. Surely Thorin or Dís had had the talk with him. Almost as soon as the idea crossed their mind they rejected it. The mental image of the regal Thorin Oakenshield giving his nephews "the talk" was too much. They knew that  _he_  hadn't done it, even if Dís had—and those of them that knew her couldn't see  _her_  doing it either. Dwalin, Glóin and Bombur exchanged glances. Of the company they were the only ones with children and they knew without the others saying it that the burden fell to them.

"Kíli, lad," Dwalin said, trying to keep his tone gentle despite the fact that he was beyond uncomfortable with the situation, " _please_  tell me that you at least know where babes come from."

"Of course I do!" Kíli snapped. "I'm not a dwarfling." The three of them breathed a sigh of relief. At least they did not have to explain  _that_  to him.

"Well," Glóin began, "unless we are very much mistaken about what that cry meant . . ." he trailed off, unable to say it. Gambling about Thorin's sex life was one thing, explaining it to his wide-eyed nephew was another thing entirely.

"Will one of you just tell me what is going on?" Kíli asked, his tone edging towards desperation as another cry from Bilbo reached their ears. "Or do I just have to go and try to rescue him myself?"

"NO!" Dwalin called, grasping Kíli's wrist. If the boy didn't know what was happening, walking in on it would  _not_ be good for his mental health. "I'll tell you." Dwalin leaned in to whisper into Kíli's ear, the younger dwarf first blushing fiery red then going pale as the explanation drew on. When Dwalin pulled away, Kíli looked up at him with a blank expression on his face.

"You mean to tell me that Uncle . . . he . . . he . . .  _inside_  Bilbo?" Kíli breathed incredulously. Those were the last coherent words that came from him for a time. He sank to the ground, staring blankly into the woods, his brown eyes haunted and unseeing. Fíli sat next to him, stroking his hair gently and whispering soothing words in his ear and they both tried to get the mental image of their Uncle and Bilbo together  _like that_  out of their minds. The sounds that were now coming from the forest at regular intervals did nothing to help them with the task. The others looked at them in pity. It was never easy to learn that you parent (or near enough) was a sexual being.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As the last trace of his companions faded from sight, Bilbo felt trepidation rise up to take their place. He had really done it this time. Thorin had told him that dwarves were jealous creatures and instead of taking that at face value, Bilbo had decided to challenge the King on it and now Thorin was livid with him and dragging him off into the woods. Alone.

"Thorin, I—" Bilbo began quietly, ashamed of how his voice quivered as he addressed the irate dwarf King.

"Silence," Thorin snarled cutting off Bilbo's apology. "I do not want to hear a word from you, Bilbo Baggins." The hobbit flinched at the tone. He hadn't actually meant to upset Thorin, not like this. He had only meant to show the dwarf how foolish he was being. Being jealous of Bofur—while it was still foolish—Bilbo could almost understand. The two of them were close, but  _Ori_? He had rarely said more than two words to Ori, he had thought that including him would make Thorin see his folly. He had obviously been wrong. He had underestimated the extent of dwarvish jealousy.

"Thorin," Bilbo tried again only to have Thorin turn slightly to glare at him, that strange glint still in his eyes.

"I said be  _silent_ ," the dwarf snapped, continuing to walk away from camp. "Do you have  _any_  idea what you—"

"I'm trying to apologize, if you will just  _let_  me," Bilbo squeaked, trying to stop Thorin before he could drop into a full rant and work himself up even more. He dug his heels into the earth in an attempt to stop the large dwarf and force Thorin to look at him. He flinched at the heat in Thorin's blue eyes. He knew for certain that he  _had_  overplayed his hand. He had seen the King angry before, but he had never seen him this mad. His gaze nearly burned.

"I, Thorin, I" Bilbo's apology was once again cut off as the dwarf placed a finger over his lips with a gentleness that was at odds with the fire in his eyes. The touch was delicate, calculated to apply just enough pressure to get him to stop talking but not to cause him harm. It confused him. Why would Thorin take the time to be gentle if he was angry?

"I do not want your apology, Burglar," the dwarf replied, his voice a dark whisper that had Bilbo quivering with anticipation—of  _what_  exactly he wasn't sure. He also wasn't sure if the fact that Thorin wasn't yelling was a good sign or if it meant that he was too enraged to yell, but the words that had just left his mouth were too close to the words that he had yelled at Fíli and Kíli for Bilbo's comfort. They alone confirmed what Bilbo had feared Thorin intended to do to him, but if the King thought that Bilbo would submit easily to such a degrading punishment he needed to think again. Bilbo was not some errant hobbitling in need of punishment; he was a mature hobbit and a  _Baggins_  at that! Gandalf had said that hobbits were ferocious when cornered and if the King dared to try it Bilbo might just have to find out if the wizard had been correct.

"And what exactly  _do_  you want from me, Thorin Oakenshield?" Bilbo demanded, glaring up at the dwarf with all the brazenness that he could manage in the face of his new-found determination. He was quite proud of himself when his voice came out more resolute that terrified. "I assure you that if you think for one moment that—"

Suddenly Bilbo's words were cut off once more as Thorin captured his lips in a passionate, fierce kiss. Whatever Bilbo had been expecting Thorin's reaction to his defiance to be,  _that_  wasn't it. He only had a moment for his shock to register before it disappeared under a wave of passion. He couldn't remember moving his feet, but suddenly he found himself trapped between the rough bark of a tree and the solid weight of Thorin. Eventually, the King broke the kiss and pulled back to look at the hobbit once more.

"Now that I have you attention," Thorin said, his voice a breathless whisper, "I will repeat my question: have you  _any_  idea what you do to me? It was bad enough that you were looking up at me with such . . . fire . . . such  _determination_ ," Thorin paused to nibble Bilbo's earlobe (earning him a sharp cry of surprise followed by a wanton moan from the hobbit) before he continued. "But  _then_  you had to go and open your mouth. I  _never_  imagined that you would say such a thing to me!"

"Thorin, I understand that—" Bilbo tried again to apologize only to be silenced once more a Thorin's lips claimed his own in another burning kiss. Eventually the dwarf pulled back again, leaving them both breathless.

"Must I continue silencing you in this manner or will you allow me to finish?" Thorin asked. Bilbo said nothing but looked up at the King with wide blue eyes that did unholy things to Thorin. "Now, as I was saying  _before_  you interrupted me, I had never thought to hear those two words from you. Hearing them did ungodly things to me, Bilbo Baggins. And by Durin's beard you are fortunate that I have some modicum of self control else wise it would not just be your mouth that I am plundering."

"What two words?" Bilbo asked. He had tried to remain silent—though the "punishment" for speaking was one that he would  _gladly_ endure—but had been unable to figure out which two words he had said had so effected Thorin.

"You called me your king," the dwarf replied, his eyes smoldering once more. It was the same expression that he had worn when he had stalked across the camp. The one that Bilbo had been unable to place. Now, however, the hobbit recognized it for what it was: lust.

"I'm sorry?" Bilbo offered tentatively. He wasn't sure that was what the dwarf wanted to hear, but he would offer it all the same.

"Do not apologize to me for that!" Thorin snapped. "I  _never_  thought that you would address me that way. Even if we manage to reclaim Erebor, I figured that you would continue to address me as you always have."

"You mean by your name?" Bilbo asked, the picture of innocence. He had had other names for Thorin, of course, but there was no way that the dwarf had heard the less-than-flattering things that Bilbo had called him at the beginning of the journey. He was sure of it.

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "Or perhaps—what was it?—I believe it was 'insufferable dwarf'?" Bilbo blushed to the tips of his ears. Thorin  _had_  heard him after all. The King smirked down at Bilbo's embarrassment.

"You-you heard that?" the hobbit asked in a small voice. He had never meant for Thorin to hear it.

"Everyone heard that," the dwarf replied with a laugh. "Balin, Dwalin and my nephews were  _quite_  amused. I think they all wished that  _they_ could get away with calling me that."

"And you?" Bilbo asked nervously. Perhaps  _that_  had been why Thorin had hated him so. He didn't seem like the kind of dwarf that would appreciate being made fun of. In response the King sighed.

"If you  _must_ call me something other than my name, I would much rather you call me your king than an insufferable dwarf," he finally said with a small smile.

"I'll try to do that. Unless, of course, you actually  _are_  being an insufferable dwarf," Bilbo smirked in reply. "Do those terms please you, My King?" Rather than reply verbally, a growl rose up Thorin's throat before he pinned Bilbo to the tree once more—earning him another cry from the hobbit.

"Those terms are  _quite_  agreeable, My Burglar," the King purred. "And just so you know, those words sound even better on your lips without the sarcasm. However there is one other matter that we must discuss."

"Now, Thorin, I—"

"Why do you insist on interrupting me?" The King asked in a fondly exasperated tone. "I swear hobbits are more stubborn than dwarves."

"You're edging towards being an insu—" the words cut off a Thorin once again kissed Bilbo into silence leaving the hobbit feeling both boneless and painfully rigid in one area.

"Is what you need to discuss with me truly so urgent that it cannot be delayed?" Bilbo breathed, nuzzling the side of Thorin's neck. "I can think of something much better that you can use your mouth for than yelling at me." That was the last coherent word that was spoken between them for quite some time as Thorin did indeed put his mouth to various, wicked uses, a favor that Bilbo gladly returned.

**oo O.O oo88oo O.O oo**

"So," Bilbo said as he bent to retrieve his own clothing, "what was it that you wanted to talk with me about before I distracted you?" Thorin thought about it a moment but couldn't remember what it had been. He knew that it had to do with his jealousy over Bilbo's actions with the others, but in the face of what had just happened he didn't see where it was all that important.

"Nothing important, Bilbo," Thorin said leaning down to place a gentle kiss on the hobbit's lips. "We can discuss it later. For now, I think that we should return to camp before the others come to look for us." Bilbo flushed bright red at the idea that any of the company might have walked in on them doing  _that_ —not knowing that they had been more than loud enough for the company to hear what had happened—and began the walk back to camp attempting to mask the slight limp that tried to come through. He knew that if Thorin saw it he would  _never_  allow something like this to happen again.

Little did Bilbo know that Thorin did not miss it. He saw the slight hitch in Bilbo gait, but if the hobbit wanted to be stubborn and not admit that he was sore, Thorin wasn't going to call him on it. Bilbo would only deny it anyway. The dwarf was learning more about his hobbit every day and this day he had learned many things about Bilbo Baggins. The fact that he was a stubborn, passionate thing was perhaps chief among them.

When they reached camp—a  _much_  shorter walk that Bilbo or Thorin had thought it would be—breakfast had long been cooked and the others had already eaten and were anxious to set out once more. Bilbo and Thorin quickly ate and the company began the next leg of the journey through Mirkwood. If anyone noticed that Fíli and Kíli were unable to look at either their uncle or Bilbo, no one could blame them. The thoroughly ruffled look that both of them had had upon returning to camp had erased any lingering doubts as to what they had been doing and . . . well, to be honest, it was a bit difficult for any of them to look at the hobbit or their king in  _quite_ the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all, a new chapter. And, as always with my stuff, when there is a smut scene cut out if you feel the need to see what I cut feel free to check out the separate smut story. For this one, the title is "Dreams of Passion: How Things Should Be" I hadn't originally figured that it would go quite as far as it did—since I was trying to stick with the timeline of the parent story—but these two had a different idea. . . it was originally supposed to be a giant argument but then . . . .it didn't happen. Meh, a little sex never hurt anyone, right? I hope that you enjoyed this chapter whether or not you feel the need to read the cut scene :)


	17. A Hobbit Shows Some Fire and a Dwarf Makes a Decision

Before the company even stopped for lunch Bilbo knew something had  _drastically_  changed between them that morning. At first he had attributed the fact that no one wanted to so much as  _talk_  to him—more than a mumbled reply anyway—to the fact that they were trying to avoid provoking Thorin. But when he tried to talk to Kíli and the dwarf had blushed a fiery red shade Bilbo hadn't known he was capable of the hobbit realized that it wasn't Thorin's rage keeping him separate from the company. Somehow, impossible as it seemed, they  _knew_  what had happened in the forest.

Once he realized what the problem was, Bilbo was mortified. He had always heard that once you had sex for the first time people could tell but he had never  _believed_ it. But somehow they knew. It was nearly too much for him. It was one thing to  _do_  things that were entirely inappropriate—but that felt so wonderful—in the woods with a dwarf king. It was another thing entirely for his whole company (including his two young nephews and four cousins) to know about it.

He wondered how it was that they knew. Did his face show it? Was there something in his gait that revealed it? He didn't think that he was limping overmuch and surely it wasn't enough that they would notice it. Surely no one had  _seen_  them. Much to his embarrassment, the idea that he may have been  _caught_  coupling with the king aroused him and the blush on his cheeks was not one of shame. He couldn't help but wonder if Thorin knew that they knew and how the dwarf felt about it if he did.

When Thorin  _did_  try to stop them for lunch, there was a near mutiny. The company wanted to get out of the forest sooner rather than later and had  _no_  desire to stop long enough to eat a full meal. They had already consented to a breakfast delay and a lunch delay was  _not_  going to happen. They understood and respected that their king wanted to take care of the hobbit, but it would do Bilbo no harm to eat a meal on the hoof. They had done it before and would most likely have to do it again.

In the end, it was Bilbo himself who posed the suggestion that became the compromise: they would eat dried foods, but they would stop to do it. Neither side  _liked_  the idea but the company was not truly ready to mutiny over something so small as a lunch break and Thorin, while stubborn, didn't actually  _want_  to drive them to one.

Once they had agreed, Bilbo sank gratefully to the ground next to Balin, who seemed the least uncomfortable with his presence, with a sigh. The white-haired dwarf smiled at him in welcome before he looked back to the paper in his lap. It looked quite official and Bilbo wondered what type of document Balin could be drawing up in the middle of Mirkwood.

"What's that you're working on, Balin?" Bilbo asked, his hobbit curiosity getting the better of his desire to give the dwarf a bit of space.

"Don't worry about it, laddie," Balin replied with a grimace. "You'll find out soon enough."  _Unless Thorin comes to his senses_ _before_ _he presents you with a contract,_  he mentally finished. Rather than press the issue, Bilbo simply let it go. He turned his attention to trying to stretch his back, one hand pressed into the small of it. His pack had been digging into him for a while but he hadn't had time to adjust it. He made a small noise of discomfort as his knuckles found the spot.

"None of that now," Dwalin said from beside his brother. There was a tone there that Bilbo couldn't decipher and it bothered him.

"I beg your pardon?" Bilbo asked. He was confused as to why Dwalin would protest him working a knot out of his own back during a break. It wasn't like he was delaying them to do it.

"If you're going to delay the group so you can go rut in the woods with our leader on a whim we don't need to hear you making noises about it  _again,"_ the dwarf deadpanned. Everyone froze as they waited for the inevitable burst of temper that would follow such a statement. And in true dwarven fashion, subtle signs in Iglishmêk flew as bets were cast on whether the explosion would come from Thorin or Bilbo. It never came.

Thorin was too shell-shocked to speak. He hadn't realized that they'd been heard, though like Bilbo he wasn't ashamed of it. He was actually somewhat relieved and proud that the others knew that Bilbo was his in that way. Now that they  _knew_  that he had marked Bilbo as his intimately, there would be no chance whatsoever for untoward advances.

Bilbo was shocked as well but he recovered a bit more quickly. It was less of a shock to him since he had known that they knew, after all. And once he recovered, for a moment he just smiled at Dwalin, the sweetest of expressions on his face. The warrior grinned at the expression, knowing that the hobbit was about to try to deny what had happened. But this was  _not_  what Bilbo had in mind.

His smile never faltered as he looked at the dwarf and said, "You're only saying that because you're jealous that I'm having sex and you are not." Silence once again met the words. No one could believe that _Bilbo_ , sweet timid little Bilbo, would  _dare_  say something like  _that_. Let alone to  _Dwalin_. But before bets could be taken on what would happen, Dwalin surprised them all by laughing and clapping Bilbo on the shoulder hard enough to wind him.

"Damn right I am!" Dwalin said. "Not that you're doing  _Thorin_ , mind, but rather that you're getting done at all! I've never missed my wife so much in all my life. You've got a feisty one here, Thorin," Dwalin said turning to his king with an appreciative smile For the first time he could see what Thorin  _might_  see in the hobbit. "Didn't know he had that in him!"

"You have  _no_  idea what is concealed beneath his shy exterior," Thorin replied, looking at Bilbo with lust once more, a look that the hobbit was brazenly returning at hearing Thorin speak kindly of him in front of the company.

"Personally, Uncle," Fíli said in a strangled sort of voice as he covered Kíli's eyes. "I would rather remain in the dark about what Bilbo conceals, if it's all the same to you." Thorin glanced up at his nephew's voice and was a bit ashamed to see how pale he was. He was embarrassed that he had been caught looking at the burglar  _like that_  in front of his nephews and the lust flooding his veins diminished even if it didn't disappear entirely, waiting for the first chance to pounce Bilbo. Thorin shook his head with a sigh. Bilbo Baggins would be the death of him.

**ooOO88OOoo**

That exchange single-handedly broke the tension that had permeated the company at the newest development in Bilbo and Thorin's relationship and once they set out again it was like nothing had changed. They began joking with Bilbo once more—though they were careful to keep their distance from him physically until they learned  _exactly_  where the boundary that set of Thorin's jealousy was—and things returned to how they had been only days before. Occasionally Bilbo could see Thorin's eyes narrow slightly when the hobbit put a hand on someone a little too affectionately for the king's taste, but the dwarf never physically separated Bilbo from any member of the company that day.

The only dwarves that still felt the awkwardness that came from Thorin's changed relationship status were his nephews. For Fíli, the awkwardness came from the fact that now he had to reclassify his uncle in his mind. Thorin had always been there for him, his brother and his mother, and had never seemed to need anyone else. True, he had had Balin and Dwalin but they had just been friends. Somehow, Fíli had it in his head that Bilbo and Thorin being together would be more like Balin and Dwalin's relationship with his uncle had been. They would talk, joke, drink together, but for the first time, he realized what having a mate actually meant. He supposed that he should have known.

Like Kíli, he had heard the sounds of coupling coming from inns and alleyways in the past. He knew that mates produced children—as his mother and father had produced both him and Kíli—but he never actually  _thought_  about it. He couldn't really see either Thorin or his mother as someone who had ever had a sex life. He supposed that if he could remember his father it might be different, but as it was . . . even though he  _knew_  that he had to have a father and that his father had to have done what Thorin just did to Bilbo to his mother, he couldn't wrap his head around the idea of his mother as a sexual creature any more than he could the idea of his uncle as one. If he had known when he was encouraging his uncle to court the hobbit that it would make him confront his own feelings on his elder family members and sex he would never have done it. He knew that it was selfish of him, but he couldn't help the fact that imagining his uncle  _having sex_  with anyone—let alone a hobbit (who was so small and fragile-looking that Fíli wasn't quite sure how his uncle hadn't broken him in half)—caused him to feel more than slightly nauseated.

For Kíli, it wasn't so much disgust that made him feel awkward; it was curiosity. Dwalin may have told him—graphically—what was happening in the woods, but he still had questions. He was a curious dwarf by nature and this situation was no different. Once he had gotten over his shock that his uncle was doing  _that_  with Bilbo he found that he was curious as to how it would work. While he now understood how sex could work between  _males_ , Dwalin had neglected to explain how it would work with a female and a male or the finer points of how it worked at all. And there was only  _one_  dwarf that he would ask for more details. After all, this whole situation  _was_  his fault. Kíli was only sure of one thing: that night, his uncle had some explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know and I'm sorry! Another short-ish one, but this one just lent itself so readily to a stopping point. If it helps, the next one will be full of all kinds of awkwardness as Thorin tries to explain sex to his nephew :D At any rate, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter despite its brevity :)


	18. A Dwarf Asks a Question and Regrets It

They stopped that night well after it had grown too dark for Bilbo to see to travel. Though it hurt his pride to do so, the only way that he could carry on was to hold the back of Thorin’s coat and stumble blindly along. He knew that he should just admit to them that he could not see and ask them to stop, but he had already been the cause of so many delays that day that he had no desire to be the cause of another. So rather than admit his weakness, he followed blindly along, concentrating on not tripping.

Eventually, however, he did make a mistake and his feet wound up tangled with Thorin’s and nearly brought them both down. After a brief apology and explanation from the hobbit, the King called a halt for the night. Though he didn’t say it, it troubled him that Bilbo hadn’t felt comfortable telling him that he was unable to see well enough to travel. It wasn’t as though he would have been angry with the hobbit for the fact that his eyes were not adapted to seeing in the dark as well as those of the dwarves. The company would not have begrudged him his inability either. In fact, they would have understood this better than they had breakfast and lunch breaks. Traveling blind was dangerous, not only for him but for them all, while traveling while peckish was nothing more than an inconvenience.

And unlike the other times that day that Thorin had called a halt for Bilbo’s sake, the company offered no complaint this time. Despite their fine words about traveling as far as their legs would carry them to speed their passage through the forest, they were more than ready for a rest. They were weary, hungry and more than satisfied with the progress they had made that day. They all dropped their packs to the ground gratefully before beginning to set up camp for the night. Only Balin was immune from having to help, having received a task from the King earlier that day. With a deep sigh, Balin put the finishing touches on the contract before walking over to Thorin.

“It’s done,” the white-haired dwarf said gravely. “Now, what you do with it is your own affair, however I won’t have you blaming me if he reacts badly.”

“Nonsense!” Thorin replied reading through the contract as he spoke and seeing that all was in order. “He won’t react badly. As soon as they have gotten a fire lit I will give it to him to look over and see what he objects to.”

“Thorin, I really think that you should—“

“Uncle,” Kíli said quietly cutting Balin’s suggestion off. “I need to ask you something.” Kíli hadn’t meant to interrupt, but he had been working all day to screw up his courage to do it and now that he had, he wasn’t about to wait. He knew that if he didn’t do it he wouldn’t do it and he _had_ to know.

“Can it wait, laddie?” Balin asked. “Your uncle and I are discussing something _very_ important.”

“No,” Thorin said with a soft smile for his youngest nephew. Any other dwarf that had interrupted such a private conversation would have been a smoldering pile of ash from the heat his gaze would have contained but Kíli . . . Thorin had always had a soft spot for the lad. For Fíli as well. They were allowed leeway that no others could expect—save, perhaps, Bilbo.

“We’re done, Balin,” Thorin continued. “Your concerns are noted and I will consider them. Thank you for your help in this matter.” Balin offered Thorin a small bow and walked away shaking his head and muttering to himself about foolish, mulish dwarves that were about to do foolish things through ignoring sound advice. Thorin shook his head indulgently at his old friend. He understood that Balin was worried, but it was baseless. Bilbo would be pleased with the contract. He was sure of it.

“What did you want to ask me that was urgent enough that you were willing to interrupt Balin midsentence, Kíli?” Thorin asked with a bit of censure in his tone. Even if he cared for the boy, Kíli really couldn’t go about interrupting meetings once they were successful in reclaiming Erebor. The young dwarf at least had the decency to look ashamed of his actions but still sat next to his uncle with a resolved expression on his face and a blush on his cheeks. It was when he began shuffling his feet that Thorin grew anxious about what had happened. Surely no one had been being cruel to his nephew. He could think of no other reason Kíli would be so embarrassed.

“What is it lad?” Thorin asked, gently placing a hand on Kíli’s shoulder and offering his nephew a small smile to encourage him to talk. He regretted it when he saw determination and embarrassment warring for dominance in Kíli’s brown eyes. This was about him and Bilbo. He knew it. He hoped that he was wrong, but he _knew_ that was what Kíli wanted to talk about. The second he opened his mouth Thorin regretted sending Balin away, the other dwarf would have been better at explaining such a thing than Thorin was.  

“I have a question, well more than one actually, about what happened today between you and Bilbo,” Kíli said abruptly the words coming out so quickly that it was almost impossible for Thorin to hear where one ended and the next began even after years of talking with his excitable nephew.

“You have questions?” Thorin breathed. Even though he had _known_ that was what Kíli wanted to talk about he had hoped—no prayed—that he had been mistaken. Even now he hoped that he had misheard. He _had_ to have misheard. Kíli was _seventy_ - _seven_! _Surely_ Dís had talked with the boys about sex. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he rejected it. He knew his sister: she hadn’t.

“Yes. Questions,” Kíli agreed. “Mr. Dwalin explained _what_ you were doing, but how does something like that _work_? I mean, how do you manage to get your p—“

“Kíli,” Thorin cut him off with a strangled cry that was almost a moan. He couldn’t do this! He looked around desperately for someone who he could compel to do this for him. Rampaging hordes of Orcs he could handle but for something so clearly stated and so crass to come from _Kili_ , his sweet little Kíli . . . he couldn’t do it. Sadly, everyone else was _deeply_ engrossed in their various tasks.

“What?” Kíli demanded with a bit of a whine in his tone. “No one will tell me _anything_! I asked Fíli but he just turned green and told me to ask someone else. I don’t know who else to ask, Uncle.” Thorin closed his eyes and vowed that when he next saw his sister he would have words with her for forcing this on him. She had birthed the lad. She _should_ have been the one to explain this.

“Kíli, _please_ tell me that you _at least_ know where dwarflings come from,” the King asked in a pained voice, unknowingly echoing Dwalin from earlier.

“Well,” Kíli said slowly, his eyebrows pulling together as he thought. “I know that a male and a female dwarf do what you and Bilbo did and sometimes dwarflings result. But I don’t know how _that_ works either.” Thorin wanted to weep! Why did this fall to him? Kíli had _no_ idea where dwarflings actually came from . . . especially not if he thought that what Thorin and Bilbo had done would result in dwarflings even if he and Bilbo were a male and female. Thorin amended his plans for his sister. He wasn’t going to yell at her: he was going to _murder_ her.

“Not exactly,” Thorin sighed trying to figure out how to explain to Kíli that _sex_ had different facets, different flavors, that . . . he couldn’t even find the words that he wanted within his own mind. Once again he looked around desperately for someone to rescue him from this: there was no one. He was alone. Why had Bilbo saved him from that Orc? Death would have been preferable to _this_.

“What do you mean?” Kíli asked, his confusion obvious even though Thorin couldn’t bring himself to look at his nephew. “Dwarflings come from sex, you and Bilbo had sex. How is it not the same thing?”

“Bilbo’s a male, Kíli,” Thorin said, his mind scrambling as he tried to think of how to explain the differences between males and females to Kíli since the lad _obviously_ had no idea about _anything_ to do with sex. He only hoped that he wouldn’t have to explain female versus male anatomy to his nephew. He wasn’t sure that he could survive that. He suddenly wished that one of the lads had been a girl and then he wouldn’t have had to explain _this_ part of it. While he knew more of the female anatomy that Kíli obviously did, he couldn’t claim that he was an _expert_ by any means. Especially not in how to explain it to one who had never seen it. He briefly entertained the idea of enlisting Ori’s help with a couple of sketches before he discarded that idea. Not only would Dori not appreciate that, he doubted that Ori had seen a woman without her clothes before either. Perhaps Óin . . .

“I know _that_ , Uncle,” Kíli said exasperatedly breaking into Thorin’s nearly frantic thoughts about who to push his nephew off on. “I don’t see why that’s important. He’s a male. You’re a male. You had sex. Why does it matter what you both are? Sex is sex, isn’t it?” Thorin—though he was perfectly fine discussing all manner of filthy things with Bilbo—found that Kíli’s casual use of the word “sex” embarrassed him to no end. His nephew was still a child for Mahal’s sake! He shouldn’t be able to say such a word without it affecting him somehow! He should . . . Thorin didn’t know! He should stutter over the word, blush, _something_ to show that he was affected by it! Not just blurt it out!

“Kíli,” Thorin begged, his blue eyes tortured as he stared at his youngest nephew, “can you _please_ not use _that_ word.” Kíli looked at him in confusion at his request. His uncle had almost sounded as though he were in pain.

“What word, Uncle?” Kíli asked innocently not understanding why a word would upset his uncle so. He was only curious after all. It wasn’t as though he was asking Thorin for a demonstration! “Sex?” Kíli offered for clarification and saw as his uncle visibly flinched as it left his mouth.

“Yes,” Thorin snapped. “That word.” The innocence in Kíli’s tone had only made it worse for his poor traumatized uncle. It almost seemed as though Kíli had no idea just how _inappropriate_ a topic this was! Thorin decided that he might have to have a word with his company about some of the bawdy humor that permeated the air. Obviously it had been a bad influence on his young, impressionable nephew.

“Then what _should_ I call it?” The question took Thorin by surprise. He wasn’t sure what Kíli should call it. And if they were going to talk about it they _had_ to call it something. He scoured his brain for an appropriate term for Kíli to use. He could think of a few terms for that act, but most of them were actually worse. He knew that he would die of embarrassment if his nephew used the word “rutting” for example. And while “fornicating” was appropriate for what he and Bilbo had done it carried too much condemnation. It wouldn’t do to have Kíli talking about “making love” either.

“What if we call it “having relations”?” Thorin suggested uncomfortably. It was perfect, or as perfect as a word to be used by his nephew to ask about sex _could_ be. Descript enough to get the point across and vague enough that he could almost pretend that they were discussing something else entirely.  Or at least that is what he thought _before_ Kíli spoke again.

“Fine,” his nephew said with a shrug. It didn’t matter to him what they called it as long as he got his answers. “So how are the relations that you and Bilbo are having different from the relations that led to me and Fíli, or any of the dwarves here . . . or Bilbo for that matter?” Thorin felt a flush rise up his face at the question. Did the lad have _no_ shame? How in Durin’s name could the boy talk about Bilbo and Thorin having relations and his own mother and father doing the same in the same sentence? It was too much.

“Kíli, _please_ ,” Thorin begged for what felt like the hundredth time since this conversation had begun, “can we _please_ not discuss your mother, and _my sister_ ’s sex life. _Please_!” He adamantly hoped that Kíli would agree. That would be too much for Thorin to bear. His nephews were proof that his beloved little sister was a creature of passion, but he didn’t want to think about it. Just the _idea_ of _Dís_ in the throes of passion with _anyone_ —even her husband—was enough to make Thorin want to break something. The idea that someone would do _that_ to his baby sister . . . Thankfully Kíli dropped that subject.

“Ok,” Kili agreed beginning to get frustrated as he realized that his Uncle was _never_ going to answer his questions. “Now how are they different?” He wasn’t sure what he would do if Thorin tried to hedge around it again. As it was now, the conversation was so inhibited that even if his uncle answered the question Kíli wasn’t sure that he would understand the answer.

“What do you know of women?” Thorin asked, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose as he dreaded the answer. Kíli barely restrained his sigh as his uncle answered his question with a question yet again and tried to give the answer that his uncle was wanting so that he might get the answer he wanted.

“I know there are less of them than there are us,” Kíli offered with a smile. Thorin sighed in defeat. Kíli wasn’t going to make this easy. He still couldn’t understand how such a sweet child that didn’t even know the differences between men and women could ask him such a crude question with a straight face. But perhaps his lack of embarrassment was due to his innocence.

“What else?” Thorin fished, hoping that Kíli was just being vague on purpose to keep how much he knew himself out of trouble and that the more questions he asked the more honest Kíli would be. He knew that that wasn’t the case, there was too much innocence in Kíli’s wide brown eyes, but he could still hope.

“That’s it really,” his nephew said. “I don’t know much else. There are fewer of them.” He was worried when his uncle placed his head in his hands and _moaned_. He had never heard Thorin make _that_ sound before. Was Thorin sick or injured?

“Uncle? Are you alright? Are you unwell?” Kíli’s voice was louder than he had intended and Bilbo looked up from the food he was preparing at the fire before deciding that it was chopped enough and dropping in into the pot and walking over to his lover and his lover’s nephew, a small concerned frown on his face. He had never seen Thorin in _that_ position before, even after he had been wounded by the white orc.

“Thorin?” Bilbo said quietly, placing a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Is everything alright?” Bilbo nearly flinched away from the blind panic in Thorin’s eyes as he looked up at the hobbit: panic that shifted nearly instantly to relief and hope. He grasped Bilbo’s spare hand between both of his and looked up at the hobbit with love, and what almost looked like desperation.

“Help me,” Thorin pleaded. “I . . . I can’t do this, Bilbo.” Bilbo was shocked. Thorin was admitting that he couldn’t do something and was asking _him_ for help. Thorin was _begging_ him! There was only one thing that he could say in response to such a plea.

“Of course,” Bilbo said with a small smile. How bad could it be? He didn’t miss the bright smile that crossed Thorin’s face or the way that his shoulders relaxed as though Bilbo had just taken a great weight from them. He was proud that he could help his lover in such a way. He had never seen such a happy expression on Thorin’s face before and _he_ was responsible for it! Bilbo could have walked on air!

“I knew I could count on you,” Thorin said as he stood and briefly embraced the hobbit before he walked away a bit quicker than was strictly necessary to _talk_ with Dwalin about what he had started by only telling Kíli a fraction of what he wanted to know. The way Thorin saw it, if the warrior intended to start an explanation of private things with his youngest nephew, he _needed_ to finish them.

“What are you wanting me to do?” Bilbo called after him, confused by what looked to him to be a hurried retreat. Was Thorin _fleeing_ from his own nephew? What had Kíli done to his uncle?

“Talk to Kíli,” Thorin called over his shoulder. That only confused Bilbo more. He knew that Thorin’s nephews could be a bit of a handful but Thorin had helped to raise them. Surely _he_ was immune to them by now. Was it really more than Thorin could handle just to _talk_ with Kíli?

“What do you want to talk about?” the hobbit asked, turning to face Kíli with confusion still burning in his hazel eyes. The dwarf looked at him with an inscrutable expression on his face. It seemed like a mix between determination and frustration. Bilbo shifted uncomfortably under the young dwarf’s gaze. He didn’t know what Kíli wanted, but he _did_ know that Kíli intended to get it.

“I want to know about sex,” Kíli replied matter-of-factly. “How it works, and what Uncle meant by his statement that what the two of you did differs from what a male and a female do to conceive a dwarfling. And you _will_ tell me.” Bilbo felt his shoulders droop. _Blast_ Thorin for pushing this off on him! He now understood why the dwarf was fleeing. He had never taken Thorin for a coward, but to be _routed_ by his nephew with a question about _sex_ . . . that was cowardly . . . and to push it off on _him_ . . . that was low. But Bilbo _had_ agreed to do it and do it he would. Even if Thorin would hear about it later. Loudly, shrilly and perhaps with a few _choice_ words thrown into the mix. But for now, Kíli would get his answers.

“What do you know about the differences between males and females?” Bilbo asked with a resigned sigh. At least this was something that he knew something about.

**ooOO88OOoo**

A half hour later, Kíli was regretting that he had _ever_ wanted to know about sex. He had learned things that, quite frankly, disturbed him. Including the very marked and _graphic_ difference between sex to produce dwarflings and the kind of sex that Bilbo and his uncle had engaged in. Kíli now understood why simply the word “sex” had caused his uncle to twitch. Bilbo’s rather frank explanations on anatomy and _functionality_ . . . Kíli was more than a bit traumatized. Even though Dwalin had told him _what_ was happening, Bilbo’s explanation, for all that he used much less crude words, was worse because he spoke of lubrication, pleasure points and—Kíli shuddered at the word— _stimulation_. The idea that Bilbo had let Thorin do _that_ to him—or that his uncle had _wanted_ to—was more than Kíli could handle and his disgust only grew worse when he realized that his father had done the other thing to his _mother_! Not only once but at least twice since there were two of them. He had been begging Bilbo to stop at that point, that he knew enough to go on, but Bilbo had been merciless.

“Kíli, my lad,” Bilbo had said with a laugh, “you asked and it would be remiss of me to leave you only partially educated. Now stay there and let me finish.” Kíli had turned a shade of green that put Fíli’s earlier color to shame as Bilbo’s explanation drew on. Eventually, the hobbit decided that he had traumatized the young heir of Durin sufficiently and stood, patting the dwarf consolingly on the shoulder before leaving to search for the eldest heir or Durin to give him a piece of his mind. Kíli sat alone in the dark staring into the ground as he had earlier that day. Only this time it was worse because he had clearer images to go with the vague ideas Dwalin had given him and much more graphic ideas from Bilbo—as the hobbit had even gone into _positions_ the act could be committed in depending on the flexibility of the participants.

“I told you not to ask, Kíli,” Fíli said dropping down beside his distraught brother. “I _told_ you that you didn’t want to know. Why don’t you ever believe me?”

“I thought I did,” Kíli said miserably leaning his head against Fíli’s shoulder. “And why should I believe you? You didn’t know either.” Kíli gave a shudder at some of the things that Bilbo had said. “Not as much as Bilbo, anyway. How do you suppose he learned all of that?”

“Kíli, no,” Fíli said desperately. “No. I can’t. No.” Kíli agreed with him. With how blasé Bilbo had been about describing sexual acts, he had _no_ desire to ask just how the hobbit knew what he knew. Vague—and even not so vague—stories and songs from the company he could handle, but Bilbo’s matter-of-fact way of saying things . . . Kíli knew that any questions about Bilbo’s past would haunt him for the remainder of his life.


	19. Confrontations, Personal Questions and Contracts

It did not take Bilbo long to locate Thorin. The dwarf was sitting beside Dwalin and looking mighty pleased with himself while the warrior was looking as chagrinned as Bilbo had ever seen him. The others that were nearby flinched at the look on the hobbit’s face. However, Thorin didn’t notice when Bilbo walked up and stood glaring down at him with his hands on his hips, but merely continued speaking with Balin about whatever it was that they were discussing. It was only when Bilbo cleared his throat loudly that the King turned to look at him. Thorin seemed oblivious to his lover’s obvious displeasure and greeted him with the widest smile Bilbo had even seen on his face. He was positively beaming.

 “Ah, Bilbo,” Thorin said brightly, “have you finished your discussion with Kíli?”

“Don’t you “ah, Bilbo” me, Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo snapped glaring more fiercely at the dwarf. “That was a dirty trick you just pulled on me. Pushing something like _that_ off on _me_! Just how old is Kíli anyway? Nearly eighty if I remember correctly. I know that you dwarves age differently than hobbits and that he is not quite an adult just yet but do you truly mean to tell me that in _eighty_ years no one thought to explain sex to him?”

“Now, Bilbo—“

“Don’t you “now, Bilbo” me either! I’ve not finished with you just yet!” Bilbo snapped cutting Thorin off mid word.

“Now see here!” Thorin replied in kind, standing to glare down at his lover. “I am the leader of this company and a king besides. I am _well_ within my rights to delegate—“

“Delegate?!” Bilbo scoffed. “That wasn’t a delegation! It was a retreat! You _fled_ leaving me to deal with the mess that _you_ created.”

“Mess I created?” Thorin thundered. “If I remember correctly, which I do, _you_ were the one that started the actions that led to his needing to be educated.” Bilbo scoffed and Thorin only spoke more loudly to cover any protests he might have. “And _Dwalin_ was the one who told him just enough to make him more curious.” Bilbo instantly rounded on Dwalin with a glare that had the warrior holding his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t pull me into this,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I told him enough to keep him from walking in on the two of you. He was very determined to “ _rescue”_ you from his uncle.” Bilbo glared between the two of them for a moment as he attempted to decide which of them he was more angry with before he decided to ask another question to help him narrow it down.

“So which of you was responsible for the fact that he believed that what _we_ did was the same kind of sex that would be used to produce dwarflings?” Bilbo demanded. He was surprised to see Thorin shift a bit uncomfortably at the question but before he could confront him on the stupidity of allowing Kíli to believe _that_ , Dwalin drew his attention once more.

“And what do you know about making dwarflings?” The warrior asked with a snort. The fact that Bilbo was rutting in the woods with Thorin called Bilbo’s credibility as a teacher of heterosexual sex into question. No matter how worldly the hobbit believed himself to be, Dwalin would never believe that he had bedded enough females to be an expert if he had even bedded one. No, current evidence led Dwalin to believe that Bilbo knew nothing about sex for procreation purposes. At least not from first-hand experience.

“A good deal more than you lot, apparently!” Bilbo retaliated. “ _I_ wasn’t the one that gave Kíli the idea that anal sex could produce offspring. Imagine if I hadn’t straightened the poor lad out! What would his poor wife have thought on their wedding night! Why he would have tried to stick his—“

“Stop!” Thorin snapped cutting Bilbo off with a gentle hand over his mouth before he could say something traumatizing. “Bilbo Baggins, the last thing that I wish to hear you speak on is what my youngest nephew will do in his wedding night. Or where he would have been putting _anything_.” It was a prospect that Thorin did not even want to begin to contemplate. Kíli was far too young to be having sex . . . if Thorin had his way, Dís would still be too young to be having sex. There was no way that he was going to discuss his nephew’s potential sex life with his mate.

“He wouldn’t have done _anything_ on his wedding night if it was up to you lot,” Bilbo replied pulling away from Thorin’s hand and glaring at the dwarf once more. “Poor lad didn’t even know how to go about it. He barely knew anything about masturb—“

“And how do you know about how to bed a woman well enough to give Kíli pointers,” Dwalin asked cutting off the hobbit’s protests about Kíli’s lack of knowledge since Thorin had gone abnormally pale at even the hint of the word “masturbation.” “Had a few women in your time, have you? Wouldn’t really surprise me. I’ve always said that Thorin was too pretty for a dwarf.” At the last sentence, Thorin, who had been looking at his old friend in thanks, began to stutter indignantly while Bilbo flushed a brilliant   
crimson color.

“Well, no,” Bilbo stammered. “Not exactly. I mean . . . I’ve never actually . . . well, not with a _female_ . . . or-well . . .”

“Thorin was your first?” Bofur asked incredulously. He was too shocked by the revelation to try to stay out of the argument. “And you allowed him to bed you in the woods? You must really love him.”

“I . . . well, I” Bilbo stuttered, trying to say that ‘yes, he did care very much for Thorin and that it was truly none of their business, thank you very much.’ But he never managed it. His words stopped in his throat as an even deeper flush rose up his face at Dwalin’s next question.

“If you’ve never bedded a lass how did you know anything to tell Kíli about it?” Bilbo squeaked indignantly at the question. This hadn’t been what he had had in mind when he had decided to confront Thorin about his cowardice. He hadn’t known that it would spark more question, especially not such _personal_ questions. He had never expected that dwarves that were too embarrassed to explain sex to a child would be capable of prying into the details of his sex life before he was their King’s mate. How was he supposed to explain that all of his knowledge had come from books and that he had no idea if he had actually give Kíli _good_ advice? He was trying to decide how to answer the question when he was saved.

“Bilbo’s sexual past is no concern of yours,” Thorin said suddenly, “nor is the source of any sexual knowledge he may have.” His words effectively ended the conversation and spared poor Bilbo further mortification. “He and I have discussed this already and there is no need for it to be revisited outside of our own relationship. Now, I would _suggest_ that you leave our burglar in peace and allow the matter to drop. _Permanently._ ” Though they were disappointed that they would never get the answer, they now had no choice but to let it drop. They could not disobey a direct order from Thorin, no matter how great their curiosity.

Despite his anger at Thorin for pushing Kíli off on him, Bilbo did not struggle when Thorin put a hand around his shoulder and led him towards the light of the cook fire. He was glad of it, in fact, as it meant that the others would leave him in peace. Even if they intended to ask him about it later when Thorin wasn’t around, they would never do it with him right there. For a while, Bilbo would be free of uncomfortable personal questions. Even so, Bilbo had not forgiven his lover enough to be the first to speak and the silence was a bit uncomfortable.

“I . . . I wish to apologize to you,” Thorin said suddenly from beside him. “You were correct. It was wrong of me to push my familial duty off onto you. I should have been the one to explain it to Kíli. And perhaps Fíli while I was doing it. I doubt that my sister ever explained it to either of them.”

“Why did it fall to you?” Bilbo asked gently. He knew that it was likely to be a painful subject but he had never heard anything about the boy’s father and wondered why _he_ hadn’t been the one to explain it to them and why Thorin should have been the one to do it.

“Because Dís would never have wanted to explain sex to her boys,” Thorin replied with a laugh at the mental image of his sister trying to discuss sex with her sons. The color she would turn might just have put Bilbo’s latest display to shame.

“What of their father?” Bilbo prompted. “Surely he should have been the one to do it.” He instantly regretted his words as the humor that had been on Thorin’s face vanished abruptly.

“You . . . they never told you? They never explained what happed to their father?” the King breathed. He knew that Bilbo had been close to the boys at the start of the journey and figured that it had come up in one of their discussions.

“They never said anything about a father. Until I heard Kíli call you “Uncle” I thought that they were yours. Kíli does look like you and Fíli does have your eyes. What should they have told me?” Bilbo asked, he was confused. Thorin closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Their father died before Kíli was born,” Thorin explained. “It was a mining accident. They are rare in dwarven mines, but they do still happen. Fíli . . . he doesn’t remember him. Not really. All he can remember is the color of his father’s hair. It was light gold. Lighter than his own. That is all. Kíli . . . he never even met him. Dís did not even know that she was with child when her husband died. She always said that Kíli was Gíli’s last gift to her. His final surprise. You would have liked him. He was much like his sons. So full of life and light. He was a good dwarf.” Thorin said no more, thinking of how disconsolate his poor sister had been at her husband’s death. For a time she had retreated within herself and left him to raise her boys as best he could. But he couldn’t fault her for it. He hadn’t even before he understood what true love felt like. Even the thought of losing Bilbo . . . he now believed that his sister may have underreacted.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said quietly, placing a hand on Thorin’s arm and offering him a sad smile. “It seems that I always ask questions that lead to painful memories. I don’t mean to.”

“My dear hobbit,” Thorin said returning Bilbo’s sad smile with one of his own and gently stroking along Bilbo’s cheekbone with the back of his index finger, “I have been alive a very long time and I have many painful memories. I know that you do not mean to hurt me with your questions and I do not hold you responsible for any pain an innocent question may cause. If I held everything that anyone said that evoked a painful memory against them I would never be able to speak to another person.”

“All the same, I am sorry,” Bilbo replied. “So what were you and Balin talking about before I interrupted?” Thorin smiled at the segue. It was perfect because Balin had once again been attempting to dissuade him from presenting Bilbo with the contract.

“I asked him to do something for me earlier today and he was giving it to me,” Thorin answered.

“What did you ask him to do in the middle of Mirkwood,” Bilbo asked thinking of the paper that Balin had been writing on earlier that he had told Bilbo that he would find out about later in such an ominous tone. Was he working on Thorin’s request then?

“Do you remember when we were discussing the rules of courtship yesterday?” Thorin replied with a soft smile on his face. He was certain that Bilbo would be pleased with the contract.

“I do,” Bilbo replied warily. “But what does that have to do with Balin?” He had a feeling that he knew where this was going and hoped that he was wrong. Surely Thorin hadn’t had Balin draw up the rules for Bilbo to read and agree to, had he? No. Even at his most insufferable he would never have done that.

“I asked him if he would be willing to write them down for you. For us,” Thorin explained, that same smile still in place. He hadn’t noticed that Bilbo was no longer flustered but that he was begging to puff up with anger. “I figured that we could look them over, cross out the ones that were intolerable and add in a few hobbit rules to make up the difference.”

“Like a contract?” Bilbo demanded sarcastically. An irritated expression on his face. Thorin’s eyes widened at the change and he began trying to think of a way to spin it in a more favorable light.

“Not a contract,” Thorin countered. “More like a list of the expectations from each party and the rules that we both will agree to follow.”

“Like a contract,” Bilbo said more forcefully, his voice growing in volume as he processed the fact that his lover wanted him to sign a _contract_ detailing what he would and would not be able to do.

“No,” Thorin repeted. “ _Not_ like a contract. It is just the standard rules of dwarven courtship written out for you and me to look over and decide which ones we wish to adhere to and which are mutually unbearable and would be better substituted for hobbit rules. It is just an agreement between lovers so that we both know what to expect.”

“Just like negotiating a contract,” Bilbo repeated standing up with an exasperated sigh. He stood up and began pacing. “Is this standard practice in dwarven courtships?” For half a moment Thoirn considered lying to Bilbo as a way out of the situation. If it was normal practice Bilbo could not fault him for it. He quickly rejected the idea. Not only was there the very real possibility that Bilbo could discover his deception, but the idea of lying to his hobbit displeased him.

“No,” Thorin sighed. “It is not. Most dwarves only court other dwarves. In that case, both parties know exactly what is expected of them and there is no need for negotiation. But in this case . . .”

“I’m entirely ignorant of you ways and need a _blasted contract_!” Bilbo snapped glaring at Thorin once more with tears beginning to pool in his blue eyes. “Why are you making this so difficult, Thorin? I . . . I don’t understand. I love you. I trust you. I want to be with you. Why does there need to be something official between us?  Do you really doubt my word to the point that you need to see me agree to court you in writing? If that’s what it will take to make you happy . . . I . . . I’ll do it but . . .” Bilbo trailed off with a small sob and Thorin realized that he had made a mistake. Balin had been right. He had forgotten that hobbits were simple folk. They viewed the world much more kindly than he did and he now saw that Bilbo would see a contract as a lack of trust rather than the sign of respect that Thorin had meant for it to be. He stood slowly and closed the distance between them, pulling Bilbo against his chest gently.

“I am sorry,” Thorin whispered, stroking the curls at the back of Bilbo’s head gently. “I did not mean to upset you. It . . . I had thought . . . you seemed so upset about the fact that you did not know the rules of dwarven courtship that I believed you would appreciate having them written down for you to read. I also knew that there would be some that you would not like—such as the touch restrictions—and felt that I would like to know which ones you were intent on ignoring. I believed that it would eliminate the need for us to argue about it. I see now that I was mistaken and I offer you my sincerest apologies.”

“Do you mean that?” Bilbo asked quietly, pulling back just enough to look up at his lover. “Was that really why you did it? It wasn’t to bind me to you contractually; it was to reassure me?”

“My dear Bilbo,” Thorin replied with a small laugh, “you are already contractually bound to me. I do not need another contract from you. I only sought to help. I did not realize how it would appear to you. I would never knowingly do something that would hurt you. If you would like, I will toss it onto the flames at this moment and we never need speak of it again.”

“No,” Bilbo replied with a wry smile. “Balin worked hard on it. It would be a shame if I was never even to read it. I am not saying that I will sign it, but I would like to read it.”

“Then we shall read it,” Thorin replied shifting Bilbo so that he could retrieve the contract from his pocket before he setteled them on the log once more and handed it to Bilbo. The hobbit read the first line with a snort.

“For something that is _not_ a contract, it more than reads like one,” he said with a laugh before he began to read it aloud. “I, Bilbo Baggins, do hereby promise and swear that I will follow the terms that have been agreed upon in this document to the best of my abilities. Failure to comply with these terms will potentially result in the termination of the unofficial courtship that has been established between myself and my beloved, Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thror, King of Durin’s Folk in Exile and future King Under The Mountain. By my signature at the bottom of the document, I show my willingness to abide by the terms laid out herein.”

“You mean to tell me that _that_ is not a contract?” Bilbo asked, mirth dancing in his blue eyes. Thorin only shrugged. There was no need to deny the truth that was written there for Bilbo to read. It was a contract.

“Perhaps it is,” Thorin agreed with a wry half-smile. “However, if you read on, I have a paragraph that is almost identical to yours. Balin is very thorough, however, and included an extra clause in mine about me not doing any harm to your person if you decide that this arrangement is no longer mutually desirable. He is very fond of you.”

“Perhaps we should sign it then,” Bilbo said with a grin. “I would love to have it in writing that you are not permitted to do harm to me for deciding that you truly are an insufferable dwarf and that I can suffer you no longer.”

“Is that a real possibility,” Thorin breathed going unnaturally pale once more at the thought that Bilbo was serious about the probability of him growing tired of Thorin and ending what was growing between them.

“No,” Bilbo replied leaning in to kiss him on his stunned lips. “I don’t believe it is. I am _quite_ fond of you, you silly dwarf. It was only a joke.”

“If that was a joke it was not amusing,” Thorin replied grouchy. He didn’t appreciate Bilbo toying with his emotions in such a way for his own amusement.  

“It was amusing,” Bilbo countered. “However, you have no sense of humor. I’m sure that the others would have liked it very much.”

“Insufferable hobbit,” Thorin muttered darkly. Bilbo shook his head indulgently at his lover’s moodiness.

“You are more than happy to suffer me,” Bilbo replied. “Elsewise we would not be here now looking over a courtship contract, would we?” Thorin could find no words to argue against his logic and before he could think of something to say Bilbo was speaking once more.

“Thorin, if you wouldn’t mind, hand me that ink bottle,” Bilbo said. “This passage here about appropriate places for a king’s consort to dance . . . it needs to go. I will concede many things, but hobbits _love_ to dance and sing. It even forbids dancing with you at our wedding—if it occurs. That won’t do at all. In fact, I would like to change it to the hobbit rule that you _have_ to dance with me at our wedding, if that is agreeable.” Thorin simply handed Bilbo the ink and quill with a nod of agreement. And the two of them passed their time until dinner in just that way. Thorin telling Bilbo which things he would not budge on and Bilbo doing the same. At times the debate became rather heated but in the end they came to an agreement that was mutually pleasing.

Balin blinked owlishly at them as they dropped it back into his lap to reread once they were done with it. The paper, that had been so neatly written before now contained large areas of brutally crossed out text and small cramped chunks of writing both in Bilbo’s spidery hand and Thorin’s bold penmanship each annotation marked with a tiny “B.B.” and Thorin’s name rune.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” Balin asked with a scoff. “I do not intend to rewrite it to include your changes. I wrote it once. If you wish it rewritten you two can do it yourselves. Half of what Bilbo wrote is nearly illegible.”

“Initial the changes to make them official and then witness the signing,” Thorin explained with a laugh. “We have already made all the changes that we desire and are prepared to sign it as is.” Balin looked both of them over with a critical eye. Bilbo did not seem to be under any duress and seemed to be signing it of his own free will. It made no sense. Balin had been certain that Bilbo would never sign a courtship contract.

“You _do_ know that you don’t have to do this, right laddie?” Balin asked shrewdly. “Thorin didn’t tell you that it was required, did he?”

“He told me nothing of the sort,” Bilbo promised. “In fact, he told me that this is by no means normal. However, I feel that he was correct that it was a good idea in our case. Hobbit and dwarf cultures are vastly different after all and as you can see, there were many things that we needed to iron out. This was a good idea, even if he should have asked me _before_ he dropped a contract in my lap a second time.”

“Aye,” Balin agreed with a laugh. “That he should have. You will have to be patient with Thorin, lad. He’s quite stubborn and quite used to getting his own way. He was even like that as a child. Oh! The trouble he and I got into when we were younger! There were times that even his parents despaired of getting him to do as they wanted . . . such a stubborn dwarfling! He got us _both_ into trouble more times than I can count. Every time my father scolded me for something that we had gotten up to together he reminded me that even if stubbornness was an admirable trait in a dwarf, there was a point where it became excessive and that “young prince Thorin” may have crossed the line and that I was under no circumstance to follow him across it.”

“Really?” Bilbo asked, his eyes brightening at the idea of Thorin as a child. “Has he always been so irritable?”

“This is the _tame_ version,” Balin replied with a laugh. “Dwalin, do you remember the time that Thorin challenged you to a duel because you . . . what was it that you made fun of?”

“Of course I remember!” Dwalin laughed. “I made fun of the way that he had dressed Dís.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Thorin argued rehashing the dispute from years before. “She was fully clothed and even if she hadn’t been, she was—“

“She had more frills on her than I knew that a body could hold!” Dwalin snapped. “I still don’t know how you managed to find someone willing to _make_ a dress like that. You couldn’t have ordered it. You weren’t king yet.”

“How old was he?” Bilbo asked with a laugh at the image of a young angry Thorin glaring at Dwalin.

“He was seventy-seven,” Balin barked. “Not even an adult and challenging my baby brother to a duel over a perceived slight to his sister’s honor.”

“I haven’t heard this story before!” Kíli called. He loved hearing tales from when his uncle was younger. Thorin had been quite mischievous before the cares of his position forced sobriety on him. And tales involving his mother and uncle together were always good. They, and their brother, had done things that Fíli and Kíli could never hope to compare to.

“Yes we have,” Fíli replied with a laugh. “Mother told it one day. But she told it a bit differently. In her version, _she_ was the one to make fun of her dress, Dwalin only laughed in agreement. When Uncle retaliated against Dwalin since he was afraid of his baby sister—her words, not mine, Uncle. I swear it!—Dwalin made a snide comment about people who didn’t have facial hair not being able to join the conversation and which point it became a duel.”

“Oh!” Kíli laughed. “Now I see why I didn’t recognize it. It’s almost not the same story, is it?”

“You never told me that you commented on his beard,” Balin said turning to Dwalin with a glare. “You told me that you had done nothing more than comment on Dís’ dress. No wonder he wanted to kill you.” Shaking his head at his brother he turned to Bilbo to explain. “You see, Bilbo, when Thorin was younger he looked much like young Kíli here. He had no beard just fuzz. And Dís . . . well, she had a mighty fine beard, much like Fíli’s only dark. And she is fourteen years younger than her brother.”

“When did Thorin grow a beard?” Bilbo asked in curiosity wondering just how long it would take Kíli to do the same.

“He was—“

“Enough,” Thorin snapped. “This is _more_ than enough of my personal history for one night! Just initial the changes and sign it so that we can be done with this.” With that said he stalked off and dropped back onto the log he and Bilbo had been sitting on only moments before.

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said, frowning at Thorin’s back. “Perhaps I should—“

“Give him some space, lad,” Balin offered. “Thorin . . . well, we just touched a sore spot for him. We knew better. But this’ll blow over. It always does. Just  . . . just leave him in peace for a bit.” Bilbo sighed. It felt wrong to him to leave Thorin to wallow in peace, but if that was what his oldest friend said was the right thing to do he would listen. So rather than going to sit beside his moody mate, Bilbo sat down between Bofur and Ori and challenged them to a rematch of the game that Fíli and Kíli had disrupted earlier. A challenge they gladly accepted.

**ooOO88OOoo**


	20. Hunger, Tempers, and Broken Pride

Balin had been right. Thorin’s anger dissipated before dinner was finished. By the time it was time to bed down for the night, he was as cheerful as he ever was, even going as far as to tease his nephews about the brilliant shades of crimson they took on when he gave Bilbo a chaste kiss on the lips when the hobbit finished off a braid he had been repairing. It was this shift in his mood that gave Bilbo the courage to ask the question that he had wanted to ask since Thorin had stormed off.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked quietly in the darkness, unsure if the dwarf was still awake. The only response he received was a low hum that he felt more than heard. “May I ask you something?”

“You need not ask my permission to ask me a question, my dear hobbit,” Thorin replied his voice soft. “You may ask me whatever you would like.”

“How old were you?” Bilbo whispered knowing that he might be about to condemn himself to a cold and lonely night. “How old were you when you finally grew a beard?” The stiffness and stillness of his lover told him clearly that he should have left it for another day when the memory of his embarrassment was not quite so fresh.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo sighed. “I’ll just go bed down over there and give you some space, shall I?” He tried to sit up by Thorin’s arm only wrapped more tightly around his waist and held him in place.

“I do not wish you to go,” Thorin sighed. “If you truly wish it I will allow you to, but . . . I would like you to stay. As to your question . . .” he gave a small mirthless laugh before he continued. “I was _eighty_. I was an _adult_ before I had a beard. I was the shame of the line of Durin.”

“I doubt that,” Bilbo replied, leaning back against Thorin and stroking his chest absently. “I doubt that you were _ever_ the shame of your line. Weren’t you already famous for your prowess in battle? There is no way that anyone would _ever_ be ashamed of you.”

“It is kind of you to say that,” Thorin said with a smile. “But I can promise you that the day my beard came in was the proudest day for my father. His heir had finally grown a true beard.”

“I . . . I am sure that he was proud of you before,” Bilbo comforted. “What of the other thing Balin said.”

“Which thing?” Thorin asked with another small laugh. “That I challenged Dwalin to a fight to the death to avenge my honor? That was true. I wasn’t always the level-headed dwarf you love.” Bilbo snorted. Even now Thorin was far from level-headed.

“No,” Bilbo clarified. “The bit about you looking like Kíli. I’ve always wondered what you would have looked like as a young dwarf and . . .” Bilbo shrugged. “I just wondered. That’s all.” Thorin smiled at Bilbo’s awkward explanation. It was clear that Bilbo expected that question to make him jealous—as it was about his similarities with a younger dwarf who was closer to Bilbo’s age—but it didn’t. Rather, Thorin was flattered that Bilbo had thought so much about him.

“Near enough,” Thorin replied. “There are differences, especially in our outlooks on life, but I did look rather similar to my nephew. I was a bit too thin and gangly as well. I had no beard, and my features were a bit too angular and thin for a dwarf—hence Dwalin’s joke about me being too pretty. I have heard the same thing said to Kíli. It upsets him, as it did me, but Kíli . . . he will grow out of it as well. Other than his continued thinness, he looks strikingly similar to his mother when she was younger. And she is a very handsome dwarf now. He will be fine. Just as I was. Hopefully it does not take him quite as long to find love as it did me.”

“As selfish as it is of me,” Bilbo said, snuggling more deeply into Thorin’s furs, “I am glad that it took you as long as it did. If not . . . well, I would never have been able to have you. Even _I_ know that dwarves only take one mate in their lifetimes. I’m just glad that you were saved for me.”

“So am I, my dear Bilbo, so am I,” Thorin whispered before pressing a kiss to the hobbit’s curly hair. “Now sleep. Tomorrow will be another hard march and I fear a mutiny if I try to slow them up again.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Bilbo asked with a smile. “Sleep well, my king.”

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin had been right about the mood of the company. The next morning they were up and moving again before it was even light enough for Bilbo to see comfortably and he began that day as he had ended the previous one—clinging to Thorin’s coat. Thorin had offered to force them to wait until the path was a bit brighter, but Bilbo had turned him down with a shake of his head. The dwarf king had wanted to protest, but Bilbo’s smile had been so soft and sincere that he could not deny him this. So instead, he offered his hobbit his arm and led him forward.

Eventually the path lightened and Thorin’s help was no longer required. Even so, Bilbo remained near him for a time in an attempt to demonstrate the dwarf that his desire for him was not predicated on need before he drifted off to speak with the other members of the company that he had been neglecting in the past couple of days. Soon laughter was drifting up from the rear of the company as Bofur, Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli each tried to tell a more humorous tale than the other.

Thorin felt a soft smile creep up his face at the high, light sound of his hobbit’s laughter. It, much like his singing voice, was easy for the king to pick out among the lower timbres of the dwarves. His smile turned wistful as he wondered if that laugh would ever be directed at him. He knew that he was no longer as humorous as the younger members of the company, but once . . . once he, Frerin and Dís had been a team to rival Fíli and Kíli when it came to wit and mischief. Perhaps . . . perhaps that mischievous dwarfling was still in there somewhere under the King he had become. He silently vowed to himself that he would try to find it if only so that he could hear that beautiful laugh directed at him.

**ooOO88OOoo**

They made good time that day and the next despite the fact that the terrain had grown rather hilly. The path was still smooth, but now it was no longer quite so level. Instead it seemed that they were in large foothills or even small mountains. Thorin did not remember these from his first trip through Mirkwood, nor did Balin, and Fíli and Bilbo were not sure if there had been any indication of hills on the map. All any of them knew was that if the map was correct they _should_ have made it out of Mirkwood by darkness the day before and they were still walking with no end in sight.

It was midway through the fourth day since the river that Thorin was faced with a difficult decision. The company was growing restless and nervous. Despite the hills they _should_ have been long past the eves of the forest. Their provisions were beginning to run low. Expecting to be able to hunt once more they had been a bit injudicious in their rationing and . . . it was beginning to look as though they would not make it to the river before they were out of food. They _needed_ to know how much more of the forest was left. To do that, someone would have to climb a tree in an attempt to rise above the canopy and see where the forest ended.

There were truly only two choices: Kíli and Bilbo. The rest of the company were too heavy to reach the top of a tree and didn’t have the sharp vision of those two. He was faced with the most difficult decision he had yet had to make on the quest. Was he to send his nephew or his mate up a tree? Which of them would be the best able to do the task? His mind knew that Bilbo was truly the best choice. He was smaller, lighter, more nimble, but . . . Thorin feared for him. He knew that hobbits lived their entire lives on or in the ground and was not certain how comfortable Bilbo would be in a tree. Kíli, while heavier and larger, was nearly as agile and Thorin knew for a fact that Kíli was comfortable in trees having been ambushed by his nephews more than once when they were younger. In the end, he let the decision pass from him to the members in question.

“Kíli, Bilbo, a word?” Thorin said drawing them aside. “I need one of you to do something for me. We need to know how much more of this blasted forest is left and . . .”

“You want one of us to climb a tree,” Bilbo finished wryly. He and Kíli shared a grin. They had known that this was coming. Thorin had been glaring up at trees all day and glancing at the two of them.

“I do,” Thorin sighed. “I hate to ask this of either of you. The thought of either of you falling out . . . I cannot bear it. I would do it myself if . . .”

“No, Uncle,” Kíli cut him off with a gentle smile. “We’re younger and lighter. It only makes sense that you would send one of us. We’ve already talked about it. I volunteered.”

“So you will be the one to climb?” Thorin breathed. The brief, vivid, mental image of his youngest nephew lying broken underneath a tree flashed and nearly took his breath away.

“No,” Bilbo replied with a smile. “I will. I am lighter and can get higher. It only makes sense.” Thorin felt as if his heart stopped as Bilbo’s broken body took the place of Kíli’s in his vision, Bilbo’s empty blue eyes staring up at him in accusation.

“Don’t worry,” the hobbit said as he gently pulled Thorin into an embrace. “I’ve climbed a few trees in my younger days. I was far too wild for a hobbit, if you remember. _This_ I can handle. There are worse things in store for me before this is over. I think a tree pales in comparison to a dragon.”

“That is a horrible attempt at humor, Bilbo,” Thorin muttered into the hobbit’s hair.

“It was only the truth, my love,” Bilbo replied. “We can never forget that if we survive to make it to the mountain I have to walk into the den of a dragon.”

“Please, do not remind me,” Thorin sighed before pushing Bilbo away gently. “If you are intent on doing this, up that tree with you!” Bilbo smiled before standing on his toes to brush his lips against Thorin’s.

“I’ll be back,” Bilbo whispered. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Thorin threatened half-heartedly as he watched Bilbo strip himself of his pack and Dwalin boost him into the tree. He kept his eyes on the hobbit until Bilbo disappeared into the foliage. He only looked back down when he felt two strong hands grasp his own. He looked to the sides in shock only to see his nephews smiling gently at him.

“He’ll be fine, Uncle,” Fíli promised giving Thorin’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s only a tree.”

“It’s a _big_ tree,” Thorin replied. “And he’s so small.”

“Was that what you were thinking when you were doing lewd things to him in the woods?” Kíli asked with a cheeky grin that only increased as his uncle flushed and began to stutter indignantly. Thorin was beyond traumatized! Kíli _should not_ be saying such things to him. But before he could berate his nephew for his comment, Kíli’s smile had softened.

“He will be fine, Uncle,” Kíli promised. “He may be small but he is sturdy. It will take more than a tree—even a big one—to separate Bilbo Baggins from you. He is quite stubborn, after all.” Thorin said nothing but gave Kíli’s hand a squeeze to show his thanks before they lapsed into silence to await Bilbo’s return.

After what seemed like an eternity—but was truly only a few moments—Bilbo returned. Rather than allow Dwalin to help Bilbo to the ground, Thorin was there, scooping the hobbit into his arms and nearly crushed him with the force of his relief.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Thorin,” Bilbo laughed at the enthusiastic greeting. “But would you mind terribly if I asked you to return my feet to the ground. I may be willing to climb a tree but nothing can compare to solid ground.” With a slightly sheepish expression the King returned Bilbo to solid ground though he did not release him.

“So,” Dwalin asked breaking into their moment, “what did you see. Are we almost out?”

“Afraid not,” Bilbo replied with a shrug. “I climbed all the way to the top. There were some very beautiful butterflies and the sun was quite pleasant but I’m afraid that there was no end to the trees in sight.” There was a bit of an outcry at his pronouncement as all of the dwarves turned to Fíli indignantly.

“You told us that there were only three days left!” Nori snapped while Dwalin muttered darkly to Balin saying “See, this is why I don’t bother with maps.” Fíli held up his hands in defeat and looked to his uncle for help. He was not accustomed to having so much displeasure directed at him from so many sources at any given time and was unsure of what to do.

“Enough,” Thorin said, his voice quite but authoritative and cutting through the din. “Clearly the map was in error. Regardless, we will press on. There have been no forks in the path so we can clearly not have gone astray. We must continue. This arguing will accomplish nothing. Move out.” There were a few grumbles, but no one could argue against his logic and soon they were on the move once more. He nodded to Fíli as his nephew looked at him in silent thanks before he turned to continue down the path.

**ooOO88OOoo**

That night, dinner was a sparse affair and there was no laughter or singing. The discovery that the forest was no where near cleared while the rations were nearly gone had destroyed company morale. If they were frugal with them, they would be out of food tomorrow or the next day. If they ate as they had been . . . that night would have polished it off. That night, it was not just Bilbo who went to bed feeling the pangs of hunger. While they would still be fighting fit for quite some time, Thorin and the older dwarves knew that as their belts grew tighter so too would their tempers grow shorter. That would be a risk long before starvation.  

There was no breakfast the next morning and by the time lunch came around more than one stomach could be heard as their meager portions were passed out. Thorin saw the way that Bilbo’s face contorted in discomfort even once his meal was eaten and knew that it had not been near enough. He had long known that the hobbit was accustomed to eating more than he had on the quest, he had seen how quickly he had grown lean and knew that it could not be all due to his increases in exertions. Bilbo could not long survive on so little. With that in mind, he broke off half of his own honey cake and pressed it into Bilbo’s hand.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked, looking at him with confusion in his blue eyes. “What?”

“Eat it,” Thorin ordered gently. “Do not worry, I am not digging into the company stores. It is my own.”

“But—“ the king silenced him with a gentle kiss before resting his forehead against Bilbo’s to keep their conversation intimate.

“You are already so small, Bilbo,” Thorin muttered. “I worry that if you grow any slighter the winds will carry you away from me once we do leave the forest. Trust me, I have survived for far longer on much less. Eat it.” Bilbo tried to give it back, but Thorin staunchly refused to take it and in the end Bilbo relented and ate it.

“You are eating all of your dinner,” Bilbo said, his voice holding a steel that Thorin knew he would not be able to combat. Instead of argue, he nodded, even though he knew that there would be no dinner for him that night. He and the older dwarves were abstaining so that Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli would be better fed. The lads were still growing and would need the nourishment. Bilbo’s portion was to have been Thorin’s but . . . the king knew that the hobbit would need it more than he would.

Placated, and ignorant of the plans for the evening, Bilbo smiled at him before whispering a thank you and pressing himself against his mate.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The next day, the food ran out. There was not even enough for the young ones. None of them complained, there was no point to it as no one could do anything to fix it, but it did not mean that they were pleased with it. All of them could remember being hungry before, Bilbo included. Winters had never been easy for the homeless dwarves and there had been some that were leaner than others. For Bilbo, he could remember a fell winter when he was a child that there had been no food and the wargs had come into the Shire over the frozen waters of the Brandywine. Even with it having happened before, it did not make the hunger any easier to endure.

As Thorin and Balin had feared, tempers grew short as the food ran out. The second day without food—the sixth day since the river—small things that would have ended with a crude hand gesture only days before now ended in cross words and hurt feelings. And sadly, many of those cross words were directed at Fíli. His words had been the ones that had given them hope and had led to their looseness with the food and their current lack. Nothing that he, or anyone, said in his defense was accepted. When Thorin tried to step in and stop the cruelty, he too was shouted down. They claimed that he was biased because Fíli was his nephew and heir and that if any of them had done that he would be calling for punishment.

In the end, he had had no choice but to back down from the argument or face mutiny. The only thing that he could do to alleviate his nephew’s discomfort was to keep Fíli tucked against his side under his arm. Even if they believed that he was playing favorites, they were reluctant to say cruel things to Fíli right under his nose. Thorin was still their king after all. Fíli was more than pleased to stay next to his uncle. Thorin, Kíli and Bilbo were the only ones that seemed to be able to look at him without anger.

“Don’t worry, Fíli,” Thorin whispered into his ear as Fíli sat beside him feeling distraught at the hand he had had in ruining the morale of the company. “This will blow over once we get out of the forest. It is very oppressive and they are growing hungry. Once we find game their moods will improve and they will apologize. You’ll see.”

“What if we don’t?” Fíli asked innocently. “What if we don’t find food soon, Uncle?” Thorin could not answer him. If they did not find food soon there were two possible outcomes: the company would come to blows and either dissolve or kill one another or they would die of starvation. It was a dark fate and it pained Thorin to write in the log book that they had run out of food.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It was the next day that they first saw the lights in the woods. At first, Bilbo believed them to be a hallucination. He had never been so hungry before in his life. He felt lightheaded and as though his stomach was trying to gnaw through his spine. He was trying to push it from his mind but it seemed that the more he tried to forget it the more that it haunted him. And he could tell from the grimaces and placement of hands of the rest of the company that they fared no better. Even Thorin, through the set of his jaw, was clearly experiencing hunger pangs.

Because of this, it was only once the one of the others commented on the lights that Bilbo realized they were truly there. They could now hear the sound of music and laughter of fair voices in the woods. Bilbo almost believed that he could smell food.

“Elves,” Thorin snarled at the sounds from the clearing.

“They have food,” Kíli countered. “I don’t know about you, Uncle, but I would rather dine with elves than starve in the woods.” He made to walk towards the clearing but was stopped by Fíli’s hands on his arm. He turned to glare at his brother.

“We were told not to leave the path,” Fíli reminded him. “Beorn said we would never find the way back.”

“You _would_ say that,” Dori groused.

“What are you implying?” Fíli demanded rounding on the older dwarf. “Do you think that I would wish us dead? I stand to gain much more from our continued survival than most of you do. Why would I want us to die?”

“Then why would we not seek help where we can get it?” Nori asked, siding with his brother. “Elves or not, if they have food I think we should talk with them. Trade for it.”

“Steal it, you mean?” Dwalin snapped. “That _is_ something that _you_ are good at, after all.”

“Not all of us had the favor of the King to fall back on during lean times,” Nori replied unabashedly. “Yeah, I stole. But it was either that or starve. And I never stole from our people. I do have some morals.”

“I _worked_ for _everything_ I ate,” Dwalin retorted, stepping forward so that he and Nori were toe-to-toe and glaring down at the other dwarf. “My friendship with Thorin gave me _nothing_. Do you think that he and his sister and the lads were immune to the hardships of our people? They suffered with us.”

“Aye,” Bofur agreed. “I remember when I thought that the lads would starve. Such thin things they were! But Dís never resorted to stealing to feed them. And neither did we.”

“You don’t know what happened so you stay out of it!” Dori cut in in defense of his brother. While he disagreed with Nori’s choices, he did admire him for being willing to risk it for their sake. “Not all of us can mine and make _toys_!”

“This is unnecessary!” Bilbo squeaked trying to end the argument before it came to blows. “Please stop this!” Bilbo looked to Thorin to help him, but the King was currently preoccupied with attempting to keep Kíli from attacking Glóin for something that he had said about Fíli’s worthiness to rule if he was unable to read a map.

“And just what is wrong with making toys?” Bofur snapped, while Bifur glared angrily at Dori and Nori. “I would think that it would have less stigma than working as a _thief_. At least I am still a master of a trade.” Just as Nori opened his mouth to reply, it was cut off but Bilbo’s shout.

“THAT IS ENOUGH OF THIS!” Bilbo yelled in his loudest and shrillest voice, cutting through the deeper tones of the arguing dwarves with ease. They all turned to look at the panting hobbit in the middle of the path in shock. Bilbo glared at each of them in turn before he spoke.

“Thank you,” he said in a more level voice. “Now, I know that I can’t actually tell you how to do things, but I agree with Kíli.” A few grumbles met his words and he only spoke louder to be heard over them. “I AM NOT DONE! Fíli is correct as well. We cannot leave the path without some kind of a plan. We’ll never find the way back. Now, I have a plan.”

“Glóin,” Bilbo said, looking levelly at the red-headed dwarf that was still shooting furious glares as Kíli, “you have rope, yes?” The dwarf nodded warily. “Good. Tie it to a tree next to the path. We can bring it with us and follow it back.” There were appreciative mumbles at that suggestion and some of the tense atmosphere dissipated.

“That fixes that problem,” Thorin agreed, pleased yet again with his hobbit’s mind. Bilbo was an asset to the quest and the next time he saw the wizard he fully intended to thank him for suggesting the hobbit. “What do you propose we do about the fact that we are dwarves and they are elves? Mirkwood elves at that. They have turned their backs on me before, what makes you think that they will aid us this time?”

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighed. “What do we have to lose? If they refuse we are no worse off than we are now. What will it hurt?” Thorin sighed. He could see the logic of Bilbo’s statement but it hurt his pride to ask for help from the very people that had abandoned him before. As he looked at the weary faces of his company, in particular those of his nephews and Bilbo, he could see no other option. They would have to beg for aid. From the elves. Durin’s beard had it truly come to this? With a deep sigh that spoke of great defeat Thorin nodded and preparation to venture into the Elf clearing began. 


	21. Decisions, Ropes and Despair

Much to Thorin’s displeasure there was not much preparation needed to leave the path. There was only a knot to be tied, and an order to be decided. Nothing more. As had seemed to happen too many times since they entered Mirkwood, the obvious choice to their present issue was one that Thorin did not like in the least. Clearly _someone_ had to go first. Normally the suggestion for the person to lead an expedition into enemy territory would have been Dwalin, Glóin or himself but . . . this time that would not work.

They were seeking aid, not a skirmish. They needed someone that was less confrontational to be the first to enter the clearing. Fíli—seeking redemption for the map fiasco—argued that he should be the one to do it. He was both a warrior and young enough to be less intimidating than say Dwalin, and would not be as recognizable as his uncle. Once more the group fell into arguing as Thorin rejected the idea of endangering his heir while Fíli, Glóin, Dwalin and Thorin all made their cases as to why they should be the one to go first. Kíli even tried to add himself to the consideration before Thorin glared him into silence.

“Lads!” Balin snapped. “None of you need to go first!” They all turned to look at him as he grabbed Bilbo by the upper arm and pushed him into the middle of the group. “ _Bilbo_ , should go first.” He raised a hand glaring at Thorin to silence the protest that he could see building in the king. “He’s small, they will not fear him. And, no offence laddie,” Balin turned to Bilbo with a sad smile, “but you do have admit that he looks rather road-worn and pathetic. He will garner their sympathy better than any of us will.”

“I have to agree with Balin,” Bofur added in. “Sorry, Bilbo, but you _should_ go first. Elves don’t hate hobbits, after all. They would be more willing to help you than they would us.”

“I _will not_ send him into the clearing alone, Balin,” Thorin growled. “Elves are at least twice his size. If they wished to hurt him . . . he would not stand a chance of defending himself. No. I will not send him alone.”

“Thorin,” Balin sighed, “I understand that this is difficult for you—“

“You understand?” Thorin scoffed. “I don’t think that you do, Balin. I have lost nearly _everyone_ that matters to me in this world. And now you ask this of me? You ask me to send my _mate_ into a dangerous situation alone _because_ he is small and defenseless? I think not, Balin. I—“ His rant was cut off when Bilbo put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said softly, “stop. This is pointless. I don’t like it any more than you do, but they are correct. I stand the best chance of getting the Elves to aid us. I will go first. I know that there is a risk but . . . we can’t go on like this, Thorin. You just turned on _Balin_. Who’s next? Me? Fíli? Kíli? If I don’t go . . . you may as well kill me yourself because it would be kinder than the death that will come. At least this way there is a chance. I can do this.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin sighed in defeat as he realized the truth of the hobbit’s words. “I do not like this. It . . . I do not trust these Elves. I know that you enjoyed your time in Rivendell and that you do not share my distrust but . . . please, be cautious.”

“If you’re so worried about him, send Kíli with him,” Glóin added in, glaring at the dark-haired heir. “The lad doesn’t have a beard yet, surely the Elves won’t be afraid of _him._ ”

“They should be,” Kíli snarled more than tired of Glóin’s insults against him and his brother. “As should _others_ who continue to speak poorly of me and my kin.”

“Peace, Kíli,” Fíli said placing a restraining hand on his brother’s shoulder. Kíli may have been a good fighter but Fíli knew that if he was stupid enough to challenge Glóin that the veteran would destroy him. “It is more to their detriment if they underestimate your skills, brother.” He glared at Glóin as he finished by saying, “their lack of respect will be their downfall.”

“Enough!” Thorin snapped with a deep sigh. “Kíli and Bilbo will go first. Next will be Bofur, then Dwalin, then Fíli and me. After that you can decide your orders. It does not matter what order we march to our doom.”

“We don’t know that we’re marching to our doom, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered stroking his lover’s hand gently. “ _Do_ try to think positively. After all—“ Thorin never got to find out what it was that Bilbo though might make this situation better because Dwalin had made a suggestion that had provoked the hobbit.

“Should we rough them up a bit first?” Dwalin had asked. “Make them a bit more pitiable than they already are? Perhaps a bruise for young Kíli and a small shallow cut on the cheek for Bilbo. Just enough to draw blood but do no lasting harm?” He didn’t even wait for a reply but began to reach for Bilbo, who scurried behind Thorin with his eyes wide with terror at the thought of having a knife used on him by the large dwarf. He was afraid that Dwalin’s idea of “shallow” might lay him open to the bone.

“I dare say not!” Bilbo squeaked gripping Thorin’s arm and peeking out from behind the dwarf King to glare at Dwalin. “There is no need to go to such extremes! I assure you that I am quite pathetic enough to be going on after weeks on the road with you lot. Especially after a week in this thrice damned forest!”

“I agree,” Thorin said stepping between his friend and his mate and nephew. “No one will be ‘roughing up’ my nephew or mate. They will serve their purpose as they are.”

“Um, Bilbo?” Fíli leaned towards the hobbit to whisper, a small smile—his first in days—on his face. “You do realize that you just called yourself pathetic, don’t you?”

“I . . . well I suppose that I did, didn’t I?” Bilbo replied with a laugh. “I’m not the only one though! You’re rather pathetic looking yourself, Fíli. You are so dirty that your hair is almost the same color as Kíli’s.”

“So is yours,” Fíli shot back with a laugh. “Now I think I see why hobbits don’t have dark hair.”

“Some of us do,” Bilbo argued. “I just have light hair. So did my mother.”

“Really?” Kíli chimed in. “Fíli’s the only one in our family with light hair. Mother’s is dark like mine.”

“I may be the only one with light hair but you’re the only one with dark eyes,” Fíli snapped. His fair hair had always been a point of contention with his brother and with the hunger gnawing at his bones he could not tolerate it at the moment.

“Enough, lads,” Thorin cut in trying to preempt the argument that he could see brewing. “You are both wrong anyway. Your father and my brother both had light hair and dark eyes. Neither of your features are unheard of in our line. No more of this bickering.”

“Yes, Uncle,” they both muttered though it was clear that neither of them was happy about it.

“Good,” Thorin said before he sighed yet again. “Kíli, Bilbo . . . we cannot delay any longer. Lead the way.” Bilbo nodded and turned to give Kíli a nervous smile.

“So . . .” Bilbo said holding the rope in his hands. “Do you want to go first or shall I?”

“Consorts before Princes,” Kíli replied with a smirk. “That’s the order of things in processions.” Bilbo shook his head indulgently.

“Now I _know_ that you and Thorin are related,” Bilbo laughed. “You’re _both_ insufferable dwarves!” With that said Bilbo grabbed the rope and began to make his way towards the lights, Kíli’s warm presence right behind him. He sighed as he heard Dwalin and Thorin cursing as they tried to follow him. At least Kíli was making a point of trying to be quiet, even if he was failing miserably in Bilbo’s opinion.

“What was the point of sending us first if they are going to give away that they are behind us with their racket?” Bilbo whispered over his shoulder at Kíli.

The young dwarf shrugged. “I don’t think it actually matters,” Kíli replied. “From what I have read about Elves they heard every word that we said on the path. They know that we’re coming and that we’re dwarves and that Uncle and warriors are in the company. I don’t know why they bothered to send us in first at all.”

Bilbo didn’t reply but he couldn’t help but believe that Kíli was right. The Elves knew that they were coming and that they were dwarves. He only hoped that Thorin was wrong about the animosity between the elves of Mirkwood and the exiled dwarves of Erebor. Somehow, he knew that Thorin was not wrong. Every step he took towards the twinkling lights and the sounds of Elvish singing made his stomach churn more violently. In his heart he knew that they were walking into an ambush.

When he and Kíli stepped out of the cover of the trees he only had a brief moment to see the shocked faces of the Elves as they took him in before the lights were extinguished. Before he could warn the others that is was a trap, he was knocked free of the rope by Bofur rushing past him in an effort to protect his comrades, who he was certain were being trussed up right at that moment. Bilbo let out a small cry as he was knocked to the ground and lost his grip on the rope.

He felt panic flood his veins as he scrambled blindly for it. This was worse than the path had been, he could see nothing without the aid of light. At least in the goblin tunnels he had had he light of his little sword to guide him. Here he had nothing and he could hear the curses of his friends and knew that they were being captured while he groped around uselessly.

“Quickly!” he heard Thorin call, “back along the rope to the path!” Bilbo felt the panic intensify as he tried to pinpoint the direction Thorin’s voice had come from. He knew that the King would be protecting the retreat of the rest and would be in the thick of any skirmish but Bilbo also knew that if he could find Thorin he would be safe. He had only taken a couple of crawling steps forward when someone kicked him in the ribs in the dark, tripping over him to land in a heap on the other side. He curled into a ball, knowing that any second he would be grabbed and bound and captured. His only hope was that they would be somewhat gentle about it.

The hands did come and they were gentle but their goal was not to bind him. Rather they skimmed along his arm up to his shoulder before running gently across his face. He was confused. This was _not_ appropriate capturer behavior . . . or so he though. Just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard the deep rumbling laugh of a dwarf.

“Master Baggins,” Glóin said quietly, “either that or a little elfling. Even Kíli has more beard that that.”

“Glóin,” Bilbo sighed in relief. “I’m afraid that I have lost the rope and . . .I . . . I can’t see to—”

“None of us can see in this, lad,” the dwarf replied before hauling Bilbo to his feet. “Dwarf eyes are good with dim light but even we require something. This ink . . .” Glóin sighed. “I didn’t hurt you when I tripped over you, did I? Thorin probably wants my head anyway after what I’ve said about his nephews today. Last thing I need is to have injured _you_.”

“I’m fine,” Bilbo replied with a small smile. That was the closest thing he had ever heard to an apology from Glóin. “Let’s just get back to the path, shall we?” In response, Glóin grunted and wrapped a hand around Bilbo’s upper arm before he continued the way he had been going before he tripped over Bilbo. It wasn’t long before they ran into Dwalin, literally.

“I’ve got the last two,” Dwalin replied.

“Good,” Thorin said with a relieved sigh, “Head back to the path, I’ve got the rope. I’ll bring up the rear.” Bilbo soon found himself between Glóin and Dwalin as they blundered back along the rope to the path where the rest of the company was already standing there looking more defeated than they had moments before. Not only had they failed, but they had been denied aid when they had needed it most. Underneath the defeat, anger burned in all of their eyes. Most surprisingly, Bilbo’s eyes as well burned with anger.

He had always believed Elves to be benevolent beings that, while a bit aloof, would not leave another creature to suffer needlessly. Now . . . there had been no danger to them. The dwarves had come in supplication only to be rejected. For the first time, Thorin’s hatred of Elves made sense to him. He vowed that he would no longer attempt to defend them—at least not the Mirkwood branch—to the dwarf King. How could he defend a people that would allow anyone—even dwarves—to starve due to unfounded prejudices? He looked around at the hopeless faces of his companions and knew that they knew the same thing that he did: they were going to die.

He could see it in the sadness in their eyes and the way that relatives had moved closer to one another, Bofur had even gone so far as to wrap an arm around his brother’s waist and rest his head on Bombur’s shoulder with his eyes closed and Fíli had sank to the ground cradling Kíli to his chest with a look of infinite sadness on his face as he stroked his brother’s wild hair. Even _Dwalin_ had gravitated to Balin’s side and had put a comforting arm around his brother’s shoulder while Balin leaned against his brother occasionally heaving a deep sigh.

“Is there no hope then?” Bilbo asked suddenly, tears filling his eyes at the sadness of the situation. The dwarves had lost their drive to continue. The rejection of the elves taking the last of their hope and leaving behind nothing. “Is this it? Do we just lay down here and die?”

“What else is there to do?” Ori asked morosely from his position between his brothers, his eyes devoid of life. “We could travel a bit farther but . . . you said yourself that there was no end to the forest in sight. We . . . we’ll never make it out. What does it matter if we die here or a few more miles down the road?” Bilbo was surprised to see a single tear slip from his eye. He had never seen a dwarf cry before and that one little tear broke him. He felt his shoulders droop as he realized there really was no way out of this one. There was no clever plan, no riddle game, no puzzle to be solved. This really was the end.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Bilbo sighed sinking to the ground with the weight of his realization. “Here . . . there . . . what’s it matter? We’re dead either way.”

“I really thought that they would help us,” Kíli said in a small voice that was so sad and lost that it nearly broke Bilbo’s heart. “I . . . I thought that Uncle had been wrong about them. I . . . Fíli?” Fíli had stiffened, ceasing his petting of his brother and looking around anxiously. The abrupt change in his demeanor pulling his brother’s attention to him rather than Kíli’s own misery. “What is it?”

“Where _is_ Uncle?” Fíli said, scanning the faces of the company as if one of them would miraculously morph into Thorin if he kept looking. “He should have made it back by now.” It was then that all of them noticed something that should have been readily apparent: Thorin was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t kill me! *cowers in fear* just remember, if you kill me I can’t write them out of this. That’s a reason to keep me alive, right? 
> 
> As I have said about EVERYTHING that I have written this week, sorry about the dark turn this one took :’( For some reason all of my stuff has decided to take the long walk off the short plank into the ocean of angst at the moment. *shrugs* But it will all turn out ok (in this one anyway) so just hang in there!


	22. Disquiet in the Ranks and an Unfortunate Decision.

For half a moment after the truth of Fíli’s words sank in the company was silent. Then all hell broke loose. Everyone was suddenly on their feet, shouting suggestions and accusations—the loss of their King having given them a task to focus on other than their impending death. Glóin and Dwalin in particular were in a heated row over which of _them_ was responsible for Thorin’s disappearance. Until Glóin said something that shifted their focus, that is.

“And just how did you expect me to keep an eye on the King while I was busy watching after the burglar?” Glóin snapped. “Besides, _you_ were the one that was closest to Thorin. He was _your_ responsibility.”

“Uncle was no one’s responsibility,” Fíli cut in angrily. He could not believe that they were talking about both Bilbo and his uncle as though they were children in need of babysitting. Thorin was a skilled warrior and Bilbo . . . well even if he wasn’t a warrior, the hobbit was cunning. Neither of them needed a keeper.

“If Uncle is not here, it is _not_ because he got lost,” Fíli continued.

“Are you sure of that, lad?” Bofur asked with a weak smile as he tried to diffuse the situation. “Thorin’s sense of direction _is_ rather infamous. Or rather his sheer lack of it.” Fíli leveled a glare at him that Thorin himself would have been proud of that caused the toymaker to hold his hands up in apology.

“If Uncle is not here,” Fíli stated again more firmly this time, “it is because he was prohibited from coming here by something.”

“Or someone,” Kíli muttered darkly. He looked around at the shocked faces of his companions with furry burning in his eyes. In reality, their shock was not in what he had said but rather that _Kíli_ had been the one to say it. Kíli, the bright, happy nephew of their king saying such dark things in such an angry tone. It shocked them. As did his anger at their shock.

“What!?” Kíli snapped, his glare intensifying. “Why are you looking at me like that? We’re all thinking it! That clearing was a trap and we fell for it. They knew that we were coming and rather than turn off their lights to discourage us they lured us in only to shut off the lights and abduct our King.” There were angry grumbles of agreement that moved through the company before Dwalin’s voice rose above the others.

“What are we waiting for?” he demanded. “Let’s charge in there and reclaim our king before those tree-shaggers have a chance to spirit him away forever.” There were loud calls of agreement at his words and the dwarves began readying themselves to storm the forest and do battle with the elves.

“Wait!” Bilbo called trying desperately to be heard over the din of peptalks and promises of vengeance. “WAIT! We can’t just go blundering into the woods! We need a plan first or—“

“Trust the _hobbit_ to want to sit here and plan while the elves take Thorin further from us every moment,” Dori muttered darkly to Ori. “I doubt that he even ca—“

“DON’T YOU **DARE** SAY THAT I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THORIN!” Bilbo yelled, turning to Dori with murder burning in his eyes. “Don’t you _dare_! I care a more about him than I have ever cared for any other person on this planet. I want _nothing_ more than his safe return to us. But I also know that we will do him no good if we are all lost to the forest as well. We _need_ a plan. I am _not_ suggesting that we abandon him, only that we take a moment and think this through first. We _have_ to find him but we cannot lose ourselves in the process.” After his initial burst of anger Bilbo had deflated, seeming to shrink in on himself as the reality of the situation truly hit home. Thorin had been taken from him. Part of Bilbo’s mind wondered what it mattered when they were all going to die anyway but even though he couldn’t put a _why_ to it . . . it mattered. He felt tears begin to sting his eyes and before he knew what had happened, Fíli and Kíli were both there, offering him what little comfort they could and seeking comfort in return.

Bofur glared at Dori—a totally foreign expression on his jovial face—before reaching into the mass of dwarf and hobbit to pat Bilbo on the shoulder gently before clapping Fíli and Kíli firmly in the same manner and saying, “Don’t worry, lads. We’ll get Thorin back if we have to cut the whole bloody forest down. You mark my words.”

“Aye, we will. But Bilbo’s right,” Balin said suddenly, placing a comforting arm around the distraught hobbit and heirs. “We need a plan. Dwalin, did you pull the rope back with you?”

“No,” Dwalin replied. “That was to be Thorin’s job.”

“Good,” Balin said with a sharp nod. “We can follow it back to the clearing where Thorin disappeared.”

“What good with that do?” Glóin demanded. “I don’t know about _you_ but I couldn’t see a thing in that ink. I doubt that even Kíli, with his sharp young eyes, could and I know for a fact that Bilbo couldn’t.”

“It’s somewhere to start,” Balin replied, his tone hard. “From there we can fan out. Search for him just in case he _did_ get lost. No offence, lad,” Balin said turning to Fíli with a small smile. “Mahal himself knows that I love your uncle like a second brother but . . . Thorin _does_ have the worst sense of direction of any dwarf that I have ever met. He _could_ have gotten lost.”

“No,” Bilbo disagreed looking up at Balin with sad blue eyes. “He had the rope in his hand. Fíli is correct. The only way that Thorin would not have made it back to the path is if he was somehow prevented from coming. Even with a terrible sense of direction, Thorin would not have lost himself with a rope to guide him.”

“The Halfling’s right,” Nori added quietly. “Thorin is many things; a fool is not one of them and it would take a fool to get lost with a rope to follow. No, he was prohibited from returning, whether by injury in the dark or something more sinister . . . “ he trailed off and allowed the others to think through what he had actually meant.

“No,” Fíli sighed. “Uncle would not have allowed injury to stop him. He’s _quite_ stubborn. He must have been captured.”

“Even an elf would have a difficult time getting the drop on your uncle,” Dwalin said gruffly. “Thorin has been fighting since before you were born. His skills are even sharper than his blade. We would have heard the sounds of a struggle if one had occurred. He is either lost or injured, not captured.”

“What does it matter why he’s gone?!” Kíli snapped suddenly, startling them all with his outburst. “What does it matter? He’s missing. We need to find him. Hurt, lost, taken? What does it _matter_? All that matters to me is that we get him back.”

“Well said, lad,” Balin encouraged patting his back gently. “It does _not_ matter. Now, back down the rope, lads. We have a king to find. Dwalin, you first, Brother. If they _did_ manage to take Thorin by surprise . . . well, you’re our best bet to stop them from doing the same again.” Dwalin nodded grimly and set off back down the rope, one hand wrapped firmly around the rope and the other around the handle of his war hammer. If it was a fight that the elves wanted . . . well, he would give it to them. Bilbo made to follow him only to be stopped by Balin’s hand on his arm.

“Bilbo,” the dwarf said gently, “I understand that you are eager to find Thorin but . . . do you even know how to use your letter-opener, lad?”

“No,” Bilbo replied honestly. “No one has taken the time to teach me. I mean . . . I . . . well I have managed well enough so far but . . .”

“It would be best if you bring up the rear of the group,” Balin said. “That way we are sure you are safe and perhaps you will be able to hear Thorin without the rest of us blundering about and making noise.” Bilbo nodded sadly having read between the lines to realize that what Balin had _actually_ meant to say was ‘Thorin will murder me if we find him at the cost of losing you.’ It was in that moment that Bilbo decided that _when_ they found Thorin he would request that the king teach him how to use his sword. He knew that Thorin wanted to teach him to swim but . . . he foresaw no circumstance that would require him to have that skill. But the ability to use a sword . . . he could see where he might need that in the near future.

“Thank you,” Balin said with a relieved sigh. He had been afraid that Bilbo would be intractable and that he would have to waste more precious time trying to convince the stubborn lad: a task Balin wasn’t quite sure that he was up to. Bilbo could hold his own against _Thorin_ , after all, and _he_ was the most stubborn dwarf Balin had ever met.

“Stay with me lad,” Balin continued. “I may be old but . . . I can still hold my own in battle.”

“You’re not that old,” Bilbo countered as they awaited their turn to go down the rope—the dwarves spreading out a bit to give them room to wield weapons without fear of cutting friend and foe alike. “Thorin is older than you are and he’s still _quite_ active.”

“He told you, did he?” Balin said with a laugh. Bilbo nodded, a small smile on his face as he remembered the quiet peace of the night they had had their conversation of the ages of dwarves. It had been less than a week but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sorry, Balin, but I would never have guessed it. It’s not that . . . well, you don’t _seem_ old exactly but . . .”

“It’s the hair,” Balin supplied with a laugh. “The white hair _always_ confuses people. Did Thorin tell you that my white hair and Dwalin’s baldness are his fault?”

“No,” Bilbo replied with a laugh. “How did he manage that?” Bilbo felt sorry that Balin and Dwalin had to permanently wear the result of one of a young Thorin’s pranks but . . . he couldn’t help but be amused. Bilbo loved to hear stories of Thorin’s escapades as a young dwarf. He sounded like he would have been a great deal of fun—or an infernal annoyance—but for some reason Bilbo could not seem to reconcile that carefree prankster with the majestic creature Thorin had become. He wondered idly if Kíli was doomed to the same fate. Would his light temperament darken with age?

“I’m not sure,” Balin said honestly breaking Bilbo from his thoughts. “And he’s never admitted to having done anything. But . . . well, let’s just say that it is mighty suspicious that the same summer he finally grew his beard . . . well, Dwalin went bald and I . . . well,” he gestured at his own head with a wry smile. “I have no doubt in my mind that Thorin had something to do with it.”

“I can try to find out for you, if you’d like,” Bilbo offered brightly. “I can ask him once we’ve found him.”

“I would appreciate that, Bilbo,” Balin said quietly, his smile falling at the offer. He knew that their odds of finding Thorin were slim, if he was even still alive. “If you do, see if there’s a way to reverse it. Dwalin may not act like it, but he is actually rather vain and would _love_ to have his hair back.”

“ _When_ I do, I will see if there’s a way to reverse it,” Bilbo replied. Balin nodded before heaving a deep sigh and grabbing the rope.

“Well, it’s our turn, lad,” he said sadly. “Shall we?” Bilbo nodded and followed Balin into the gloom of Mirkwood, wrapping one arm around the rope so that one of his hands was on the hilt of his little sword and the other in his pocket fiddling with his magic Ring prepared to slip it on at the first sign of trouble.

At the quiet sound of a scuffle in front of them, Balin placed a hand on Bilbo’s chest, silently telling him to wait before the dwarf crept forward as quietly as he was able. Rather than obey, Bilbo slipped on the Ring and crept after Balin a good deal more quietly. No sooner had the dwarf cleared the trees than he was grabbed and bound before being pressed towards the rest of the company—who were also bound (which Bilbo could see by the light of lanterns that sprang to life at Balin’s capture).

“He was the twelfth,” one of the elves said doing a quick head count of bound dwarves. “That is all of them.”

“But what of the Halfling that was with them,” replied another. “We have not captured him. Should we not wait?”

“We were told to bring the twelve dwarves,” the first replied. “The Halfling was not seen as a threat to our people. He may remain free.” There was a cry of pain from the elf who had had his hand over Kíli’s mouth before Kíli’s voice rang clear.

“You can’t leave him out here alone!” Kíli snapped. “He’ll die alone. He has no food, no water and no skill with—Ow! Damn it, Fíli, don’t kick me! It was bad enough when Uncle—OW!”

“The Halfling’s fate is a sad one,” the first elf replied as the two brothers were separated. “And it greives me that such an innocent creature will die. However like all things that are born to this world save for the first-born he must eventually pass from this world. If he would have remained safe in his homeland it might have been many years from now but he would pass all the same.”

“So what?” Fíli demanded, having bitten his own guard to ask his question. “Since he was _foolish_ enough to travel with dwarves you will condemn him to death?”

“It is not I who has condemned him,” the elf replied calmly. “He was condemned to die the moment he was born. I simply will not interfere with the death that Eru has destined for him.”

“You bast—“ Fíli’s oath was cut off as a gag was slid into place. He could hear Kíli’s muffled protests as he was subjected to the same treatment. Fíli glared up at the elf with murder in his blue eyes at the mistreatment of himself and his brother and the elves complete disregard for Bilbo’s continued existence.

“We did not wish to resort to such tactics,” the elf said glancing apologetically at the two brothers, “however, as you both seem intent on causing us physical harm we will do what we must to protect ourselves. I know that you do not see the harm in speaking in such loud voices but there are dangers in these woods that are drawn to noises. The spiders come to mind. It would go well for all of us if you will just be silent. I have no desire to fight the giant spiders but if you call them down on us know this, my people come first. I will not allow any of us to be killed to save you.”

“Giant spiders!?” Bofur asked following Fíli and Kíli’s example. “And you want to leave Bilbo out here for them!? They will eat him ali—“ And like Fíli and Kíli, Bofur was silenced as well. It was with heavy hearts that the allowed themselves to be led away knowing that they were condemning Bilbo and perhaps Thorin to death but unable to do anything to stop it.

Little did they know that Bilbo was following them on invisible and silent feet. He briefly considered staying to look for Thorin before rejecting the idea. He knew now that Thorin had been captured. There was no other explanation. That and the thought of the giant spiders made his blood freeze. So rather than stay and search for his lover, Bilbo followed his friends as they were led through the forest and into the underground fortress of the Elf King of Mirkwood. He only hoped that he had made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time I have a QUESTION for you: For the next two weeks I am going to be writing like a madwoman to try to get as much done on these stories as I can before school starts up the first week of June. After it does updates will become much more sporadic (it’s an accelerated program that compresses 2 years of study into 9 months. What would be a normal semester is now crammed into 8 weeks and well . . . that’s a lot to do and very little time to do it) Here’s where the question comes in. Do you want me to post as I get it done and get a mass amount of uploads in the next two weeks and then potentially silence for a while or would you rather that I hold them and give out a chapter (or two) a week? I think I prefer the spread out method but will do it whichever way is the most popular on each of my stories. I do want happy readers after all ;D. So vote for you choice in the comments!


	23. Angry Discussions Between Kings and Issues of Succession

Thorin struggled against his captors as they led him through the halls of the Palace of Mirkwood. He knew that it was futile—he had tried to escape from the all the way from the clearing and had been unable to do so—but he could not bring himself to submit willingly to the degradation that was being led complacently before the Elf King bound. So instead of saving his energy and walking calmly between them, he struggled and cursed and swore vengeance against them and their descendants for their treatment of him even if his heart was not truly in it. His concern was not his own safety at the moment but rather on Bilbo and his nephews and his company who were still in the forest condemned to a slow death by starvation.

He knew that would not be his fate. Thranduil was capable many things but even he would not starve Thorin to death in his dungeons. Instead he would keep the dwarf alive as long as possible if for no other reason than to make him suffer. And suffer Thorin would. He would spend the rest of his life wondering what would have happened had he have made different choices. Every one of his mistakes would haunt him. He briefly wondered if Thranduil would take pleasure in his pain before his musings were cut off as he was forced to his knees before a dais.

He glanced up and did not have to fake a sneer as he had faked his indignation earlier. On a throne on the dais sat Thranduil with an almost smug smile on his face. At his expression rage boiled within Thorin and his words fell from his mouth before he had time to still them.

“What is the meaning of this, Thranduil!?” Thorin demanded angrily. “Why have you accosted me in the forest and had me bound before being brought before you as nothing more than a common ruffian?! What right did you have?”

“What right did I have?” Thranduil asked calmly as he surveyed the bound dwarf before him with a bored expression that bordered on disinterest. “Tell me, Thorin Oakenshield, what right did you and your war band of dwarves have to accost my people in the midst of their revelry.”

“I accosted no one!” Thorin snapped. “And I have no war band of dwarves. Merely a small group of friends that are traveling with me.”

“Friends?” Thranduil scoffed. “I was unaware that you had friends, Thorin. In fact, I am surprised that any of them were willing to travel with you. Your temper and foolish pride are quite well known. But that is beside the point. Why did you accost my people?”

Thorin sighed harshly before he spoke, knowing that the Elf King would just _love_ the explanation he was about to give for their travel into the clearing.

“We were _starving_ and came seeking aid,” Thorin replied in a surly tone staring at the foot of the dais once more, unable to _see_ the smug satisfaction that he knew would twist Thranduil’s features at his own failed planning efforts. “It has been days since we have eaten and we have young ones with us. They cannot . . . We. _Needed._ Help.”

“You mean that you came to _beg_ me and mine for aid after all the harsh words you have had for us over the years?” Thranduil said, his voice practically dripping with pleasure at Thorin’s discomfort. He was not a cruel person but he had long believed that Thorin’s pride would be his undoing and perhaps the undoing of them all and seeing that even a dwarf had a limit to the foolishness of pride pleased him. It was not Thorin’s suffering, or that of his companions, that gave Thranduil pleasure but rather that he was finally getting to see humility from the proud King of the Dwarves.

“What would you have done in my position?” Thorin countered harshly, glaring up at the elf once more. “Would you have done _nothing_ in the face of the fate of watching you friends and kin die a slow painful death by starvation? Would you not have _begged_ if that was what it took to save them or would you have passed up a chance at aid knowing that if you did so it would be kinder to turn your own blade on your kin and kill them quickly rather than watch them suffer before they died?” Thorin paused and pain washed across his features for a moment before it was shoved away. Now Thranduil watched with interest. Something had changed in the dwarf since last they met. Something had tempered him and Thranduil knew that it was not time. No, time was not enough to soften dwarves, in fact it often hardened them. Something, or some _one_ , had tempered the pride of the King of Durin’s folk. Thranduil could only wonder what it was.

“So, yes, I _did_ come to your people to _beg_ ,” Thorin continued anger in his tone once more. “And just as you always have you _refused_ to help us. Instead you have condemned them to death and prohibited me from saying my final goodbyes to them.”

“I condemned no one, Thorin,” Thranduil replied wondering what reaction his next words would garner: just how deeply changed Thorin truly was. “Their fate was decided by your choices, not mine.” He was shocked as pain rather than anger flashed across Thorin’s face before it was concealed.

“Be that as it may,” Thorin replied, his voice choked with unshed tears, “your decision not to aid them will be the final stroke that fells them. I may have brought them to the arena but it is you that will kill them. You could save them if only you would. I did everything in my power to do so. Their blood is now on your hands.”

“No, Thorin,” Thranduil argued. “I will give you one more chance to save them. Tell me what you were doing in my lands with heavily armed dwarves in the first place and not only will I aid them, but I will free you and reunite you with them to be on your way.”

“You lie!” Thorin spat. “You have no intention of doing as you say! Even if I was to tell you the reason for our travel you would not allow us to go on our way in peace. It is not in your nature to help dwarves and we both know it! I still remember, Thranduil. I _still_ remember when you refused to aid us when we most needed your help.”

“No,” Thorin said firmly. “Do not take me for a fool. I will tell you nothing.” Thranduil turned his attention from the livid dwarf before him as an elf leaned in to whisper in his ear. He nodded solemnly before turning back to the dwarf before him.

“Then their fate is on your hands now, Thorin Oakenshield,” Thranduil replied. “I am not as heartless as you believe. I will not allow them to starve to death in the forest, though this is also for the safety of my own people. It would not do to have ravenous dwarves with weapons roaming the woods where they could possibly injure us. All twelve of them have already been captured and are being brought to us.”

“Twelve?” Thorin breathed despite himself. At Thranduil’s raised eyebrow Thorin continued. The safety of his company more important than keeping such insignificant information from the elf. “There should be thirteen.”

“What do you mean?” Thranduil asked. “We captured twelve dwarves. Not including yourself.”

“There . . . there was a . . . a hobbit,” Thorin breathed in shock before desperation took its place. “A. . . a hobbit made the fourteenth member of our company. Did they capture a hobbit as well?” Thorin’s reaction shocked the Elf King and he wondered if there was more between the dwarf and Halfling than Thorin was letting on. Thranduil looked to the elf that had come to tell him of their capture hoping for once that they had gone beyond his orders and brought the Halfling as well. The elf shook his head and Thranduil felt his heart go out to the dwarf as pain flashed across his face once more.

“We could not find the Halfling,” he replied. “We searched however he eluded us.” Thorin felt panic grip his chest. Bilbo was lost alone in the forest. If he was alone. . . Bilbo was intelligent but . . . he was so small and Thorin felt a wave of regret wash through him as he berated himself for never teaching Bilbo how to defend himself.

“Search for him again,” Thranduil ordered seeing the vulnerable, broken look on the dwarf’s face at the news that the hobbit had not been found. He had not meant to break Thorin, only to test him and from the looks of things the loss of the hobbit would devastate the Dwarf King.

“I am afraid that we cannot, My King,” the elf replied. At Thranduil’s raised eyebrow the elf sighed. “A few of the younger dwarves protested our decision to leave the Halfling and their shouts drew the spiders. By the time it is safe to return . . . there will be no point. I am sorry, My King.” Thranduil nodded sadly. He turned to Thorin with a sad sigh.

“I am afraid that your company now numbers thirteen, Thorin,” Thranduil said. “My condolences for your loss.”

“Your . . . your _condolences_!?” Thorin asked incredulously. “How _dare_ YOU OFFER ME YOUR **CONDOLENCES!** This is **your** fault, Thranduil! His blood is on your hands!”

“I disagree, Thorin,” Thranduil said trying to feign disinterest in the anger of the dwarf, though he did have to admit that the sheer force of the dwarf’s rage shocked him. It shocked him that Thorin was more upset about the loss of a Halfling than he had been at the indignity of his own capture. “I was not the one that led him into the wilds.”

“I may have led him here,” Thorin replied, his voice quiet and filled with more emotion than Thranduil had ever thought him capable of. “And I will bear the guilt of that for the rest of my days but . . . _you_ were the one abandoned him in the forest to be left to the spiders. _You_ forcibly removed me from him and then the rest of my company from him as well. _You_ were the one that left him defenseless. _You_ as good as killed him.”

“Thorin,” Thranduil said quietly feeling true remorse for his part in the dwarf’s grief, “I truly am sorry for your loss. Do not now compound it with your stubbornness. Tell me what business you had in my kingdom and I will let you and your remaining company continue on your way.” Thorin glared up at him but said nothing. It was clear from his expression that he would say no more.

“Take him to a cell,” Thranduil ordered sadly. “Give him food and water. We can only hope that another member of his company has more sense.” Thorin said nothing, but the defeated set of his shoulders and the way that he did not even struggle against his captors spoke more of his grief than his tears could have. It was a sight that Thranduil had never thought to see and took no pleasure in: Thorin Oakenshield was well and truly defeated.

Thorin walked in a daze unaware of his surroundings as he was led through the halls of the palace and into a dungeon. He did not even react when he was walked into a cell and the door locked behind him. Despite his own hunger, he did not even move to claim it when food and water were pushed through the hole in the door for him. He was numb. There were no thoughts in his mind save for the fact that he had failed. He had promised to protect Bilbo and he had failed. Some mate he was.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Once they were out of the woods, the elves seemed to relax. The dwarves, however were only growing more tense. Now, not only were they prisoners but even if they did manage to escape they would be trapped within the elf city. Their only hope was that they would soon be reunited with Thorin and that he would have a plan. All of them except for Balin.

He knew that it was weak of him, but he had no desire to face Thorin ever again. _He_ had been the one that forced Bilbo to hang back. If he hadn’t have done that, Bilbo would have been captured with them and not been abandoned to death in the forest. _He_ had killed Bilbo. He knew that Thorin would be beside himself in his grief at the newest loss and couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to tell Thorin of Bilbo’s death.  How was he to tell his old friend that he had been responsible for the death of his mate?

As they were led into a large throne room it was with both relief and horror that Balin noticed that Thorin was not there. He was relieved that Thorin was not there and that he would not have to break the news to his friend, but he was also horrified because if Thorin was not there it meant that he was most likely dead as well. At a signal from the Elf King, Bofur, Kíli and Fíli were ungagged.

“What could bring twelve armed dwarves into my kingdom?” Thranduil asked calmly.

“ _Do I speak or should Fíli?_ ” Balin asked quickly in Khuzdul. Fíli gazed at him in shock. Before shaking his head, eyes wide in horror. The only reason that he would be the one to speak would be if Thorin was dead and he refused to give his uncle up for dead. In his mind Thorin was still alive and Balin was his second-in-command and therefor in charge.

“ _No,”_ Fíli breathed staying in the same language. “ _I . . . We do not know that he is dead yet. You are Thorin’s second-in-command. Until we know for sure, he is still our King. You will speak.”_ Balin smiled at him sadly, pity in his dark eyes, before he turned to Thranduil.

“We were traveling,” Balin replied. “Simply passing through.”

“If that is the case, why did you attack my people as they dined?” Thranduil countered.

“Our intent was not to attack your people,” Balin said calmly. “We merely sought aid. The crossing took more time than we believed it would and our supplies were depleted. And instead of helping us your people denied us and caused us to lose two of our number to your forest. At least one of them through the conscious intervention of your people and the other . . . we do not know what has become of him.”

“I have been told of the fate of your Halfling,” The Elf King said sadly. “I apologize for his loss.”

“What do you mean you _apologize_ for his loss?!” Kíli demanded speaking out of turn from his anger at the callousness of the Elf King in the face of Bilbo’s death by his decisions. “You were the one that gave the order to abandon him to death! How _dare_ you _apologize_ for it!” Kíli stopped speaking, his chest heaving and his eyes bright with unshed tears.

“You killed him,” Kíli whispered, his voice broken with the force of his grief over the loss of his friend, “as surely as if you ran him through yourself. You _murdered_ Bilbo.” Thranduil’s heart broke anew for the fate of the Halfling. It was clear that all of the dwarves had been fond of the creature. They were all showing signs of grief but not so clearly as Thorin had or as clearly as the dark-haired youngling was. Suddenly Thorin’s words about his kin came to mind and Thranduil wondered if the angry young dwarf before him was related to the King. That would also explain the Dwarf King's desperation to find food for the young ones.

“That is a fair enough assessment,” Thranduil replied quietly. “And I do regret my contribution to his death. I should have included the Halfling in the capture order rather than ignoring his presence. I do bear fault for his death. But I can do nothing to change my decisions now. I can only offer you a choice: tell me what business brought you through my lands and receive aid to continue your travels or keep your secrets and remain here until such a time as you wish to prove to me that you pose no threat to me or my people.” Though none of the dwarves said anything, the glares that they leveled at him told them that they _did_ in fact pose a threat to him and that any of them would gladly kill him if given the opportunity.

He waited a bit longer but none of them said anything else. Eventually he sighed. “Take them to the East dungeons. Give them food and water. When they do decide to talk, bring them back to me.” Unlike Thorin, these dwarves did not go quietly. They left much as he had entered, struggling, swearing, threatening retribution . . . after their protests faded, Thranduil allowed his head to fall into his hands with a sigh. He hated that it had come to this: that he was jailing dwarves that were little more than children and making decisions that led to the death of an innocent Halfling. He wished that he had another option but he could see where he could do anything else if he was to protect his people. 


	24. Returned from the Dead

Bilbo followed after the dwarves wishing that he could let them know that he was not dead. He could see the pain in all of their faces and hated that he was the cause of it. He tried to hang back as much as he could and still keep up with them, especially as the elves began trying to disarm the dwarves and put them into cells and the risk of being bumped into increased as the dwarves resisted. Bilbo had to smile when it took four of them to force Dwalin in and close the door behind him. Once they were all in cells, the same elf that had spoken in the woods spoke again.

“If you will come towards the bars and turn around, I will cut your bonds,” he said. “The others are already bringing meals for you.” There was some grumbling but one by one the dwarves turned and allowed the elf to cut their bonds, moving away as soon as they felt the rope give as if the elf intended to sink the knife into their exposed backs. The elf smiled sadly at them before turning to Fíli and Kíli who were now reaching through the bars of their cell doors and attempting to clasp hands.

“I do apologize for the death of your companion,” the elf said looking down at them with sad eyes.

“You were the one who decided to leave him to his fate!” Fíli snapped. “Your King said that he wished he would have included him but he never said that he wished that he hadn’t prohibited him. You were not forbidden from bringing him. You _chose_ not to! Your apology is _not_ accepted nor will it ever be. Even if you see reason and free us, this wrong will _never_ be forgiven or forgotten.”

“I do regret that my actions have driven us to this position,” the elf replied quietly. “I erred and cost the Halfling his life. However I only did what I believed to be best for my kin. Even you can find no fault with that.”

“You took a life needlessly,” Dori spat. “An _innocent_ life. He posed no threat to you. I have never met a kinder soul in my entire life. I assure you that we _can_ and _do_ find fault with that.”

“You had best hope that we never are freed,” Bofur threatened. “I know for a fact that our people will seek retribution for this. Not just our imprisonment but for the loss of both Thorin and Bilbo.”

“Why would the dwarves care of enough for the loss of a single Halfling to be willing to declare war on the elves?” the elf asked skeptically. “Even if he was precious to you I doubt that the entire race of the dwarves will agree with you well enough to march to war, bellicose as you are. I see no one here that has the authority to declare such an order.” There was no response to his challenge. For the first time logic penetrated their pain and anger. For the first time they realized that the elves had no idea _who_ they had in the dungeon. They did not know that they had the heirs of the line of Durin and that Fíli _was_ their King with Thorin presumed dead.

Instead they looked away from him and refused to even glance in his direction. They originally intended to refuse the food when it was brought to them in protest of Bilbo and Thorin’s deaths but even the great stubbornness of the dwarves was no match for the hunger that was gnawing at their bellies. They were at least able to resist until their jailers had left but only just. The moment they were gone, the dwarves dug in greedily, not even their disgust for elves able to dissuade them. Once the food was gone, shame rose up within them at their moment of weakness.

“Fíli?” Kíli said quietly.

“What do you want, Kíli?” Fíli muttered sadly. “I have nothing to say that can make you feel better about this. Even if we tell them the truth . . . after what we just said . . . we’re going to die in here, Brother. Even if he didn’t believe that we can do it . . . they won’t ever free us.”

“That’s not what I wanted, Fíli,” Kíli replied. “I wanted . . . well . . . do you think . . . do you think that Bilbo and Uncle are dead?”

“If they’re not they soon will be, lad,” Bofur said sadly. “Bilbo is beyond intelligent but . . . he won’t survive alone in the forest without food. The same is true for Thorin. If the elves had him, they would have flaunted it. There is nothing out there for him to eat and he went without food for longer than most of us to ensure that you two and Bilbo ate well. No, lad, we will never see either of them again.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Bilbo asked suddenly slipping off the Ring and stepping into the center of the room. In any other situation the looks of shock on their faces would have been comical. As it was, there was nothing funny about it.

“B-Bilbo?” Balin asked hesitantly. “How did you . . . how are you . . . ”

“I . . . I have a magic Ring,” Bilbo explained. “I won it from the creature Gollum and it . . . well it makes me invisible. When you told me to stop well . . . I didn’t listen. Instead I slipped on the Ring and followed you.”

“You mean to tell me that you were never lost?” Bofur asked with a relieved laugh. “You-you were never in danger?”

“I never was,” Bilbo said with a sheepish grin. “I only—“he was cut off by Kíli’s indignant shout and the sound of the dwarf throwing himself at the bars of his cell in anger.

“You . . . you . . .”here Kíli said something in Khuzdul that _must_ have been vile because it led to _Dwalin_ saying “Now, lad, there’s no need for _that_ kind of language.” Kíli only spared him a glance before turning back to Bilbo his expression making it clear that it was only the bars between them that were keeping him from throttling the hobbit. “You let us believe that we were leaving you for dead! How could you do that to us? To _me?!_ ”

“Well, I had no way of _telling_ you that I was safe, did I?” Bilbo asked snippily. He was quite proud of having not been captured and here Kíli was raging at him over it. “Not if I wanted to remain uncaptured. What good would I do any of us locked in a cell?”

“By Durin’s beard the hobbit has a point!” Nori exclaimed. “He’s free. And he’s invisible. He can figure out a way to free us all.” There was a general cheer went through the group at the pronouncement before it was stopped by Balin.

“Lads, I understand that this is _wonderful_ news, however we can’t get our hopes up,” Balin said with a sigh.

“Don’t you think I can do it?” Bilbo asked, his pride wounded by Balin’s lack of faith.

“It’s not that, lad,” Balin said. “I have faith in you. It is just that . . . well how will we explain away the change in our moods. From surly little Kíli here—never thought I would say _that_ about you lad—to his angry brother to vengeful Bofur. . . if they all suddenly become themselves once more how will we explain it to the elves. Prisoners should get more surly as time passes not less.”

“Who says that we need to explain anything to those tree-shaggers,” Kíli snapped viciously. “They would have left Bilbo to die! We owe them nothing.”

“That is what we need from you, lad,” Balin said with an approving smile. “You need to keep the same anger when they are here. That or sit in the back of your cell with your mouth closed and feign depression. That’s what we all need to do until Bilbo can find us a way out of this. Now, glad as I am to see you, I think you’ve been visible long enough for now, Bilbo. You might want to put that Ring of yours back on.” Bilbo nodded and offered them a smile before disappearing before their very eyes.

Kíli jumped when he felt a small hand grab his own and give it a gentle squeeze. “I am sorry to have worried you, Kíli,” Bilbo said quietly. “If there would have been a way . . .”

“I know,” Kíli said squeezing back gently. “I was just upset. Don’t pay any attention to what I say. No one else does.” Bilbo smiled at the levity in Kíli’s tone before squeezing his hand once more and pulling away to go in search of his own meal and to begin trying to find a way for them to leave the dungeons behind once and for all. He only hoped that he would be able to find it soon. And, perhaps, find out something about what had become of Thorin while he was at it.

**ooOO88OOoo**

In the darkness of the dungeons of the palace of Mirkwood, time soon ceased to have meaning to the Company. Minutes felt like hours, hours like days and days like weeks. Especially for poor Bilbo where every second was he was terrified that he would make a mistake that would cause him to be captured and imprisoned with his friends. It was especially difficult for him—not only because elves had _remarkable_ senses—due to his heartache over Thorin’s loss. After weeks with no news, he knew that the dwarf was no longer alive. There was no way that Thorin would have survived alone in the woods for that long and he had heard no mention of him having been captured. It made his heart _ache_ to know that he would never see the dwarf again.

As the days stretched into a week with no sign of a method of freeing the dwarves he began to despair. There were many times that he felt like giving up on ever freeing the dwarves, the task seemed so hopeless.

More than once in that first week he actually _considered_ it. He thought how easy it would be to knock something over or “drop” the Ring and allowing himself to be captured by “accident.” It was only the knowledge that if he did so that he would be trapped in the darkness forever that stopped him, even though he was still tempted. And the greatest motivation of his temptation was food. Where the dwarves were getting regular meals, Bilbo was being forced to sneak every scrap of food that he managed to acquire. While it was more than he would have gotten had they have remained in Mirkwood, it still was less than he would have liked—and less that the dwarves were getting.

When he spoke to Bofur about his desperation and despair the dwarf had sighed and told Bilbo that he would do what he could to save a bit of food for the hobbit from his next meal and every meal after. After that, things got easier for Bilbo as not only Bofur had overheard his complaint and the others had also begun to save what they were capable of hiding from the elves for Bilbo. After that, things began to be easier for the hobbit. He was still living in constant fear of being captured, still only able to grab a few short hours of sleep at a time, still nursing the hole in his heart that the loss of Thorin had caused and still seeking a way to free them all. He focused on that last task the most fiercely, feeling that he owed that to his lost mate if nothing else.

Weeks passed much in the same way and eventually none of them knew how long they had been there. It was then that Bilbo began to overhear mentions of another, more troublesome, dwarf that was also a prisoner of the Elf King. Despite himself, Bilbo felt his heart rise as hope began to flow through his veins once more. He could think of no other dwarf that could be held there: it _had_ to be Thorin. Even if he had begun to despair, he had known—deep down—that the King was not dead. After they had been captured the others, even Fíli and Kíli, had only smiled indulgently at him when he had said that he _knew_ that Thorin was still alive and had looked on him with pity but had not disagreed with him. It was because of this that Bilbo did not tell them of his suspicions. He could not bear to raise their hopes of seeing Thorin once more only to have them be proved false.

Instead, he took to silently stalking any elf he saw that was headed anywhere with a plate of food. He knew that the other dwarves were being fed and doubted that the Elf King would deny Thorin the same courtesy. He knew that following elves with plates was a long-shot, but it was the only lead that he had. He wasn’t sure how many elves he had followed, or how many days he had been at it, when he finally found what he was looking for. He had picked a random elf—this one female—that was leaving the kitchen with a paltry meal of mostly bread and watery soup with a small amount of meat in it and a torch and followed her.

After many twists and turns, she led him to a thick wooden door with bars set in it at her eyelevel. She placed her torch into a bracket beside the door before she began to dig out a large ring of keys from her pocket.

“I am going to open the door, Master Dwarf,” she called. “I would ask that you take the time to clothe yourself if you are in a state of undress. I would spare us both the shame.” No answer came from within the cell and after a moment she unlocked the door and swung it open on silent hinges. This surprised Bilbo; none of the other guards ever opened the cells of the rest of the dwarves. He felt fear twist his gut at the possibility that the dwarf that was housed in that cell was injured or otherwise incapacitated so that he posed no threat to her and crept forward and slipped into the cell before she could close the door behind her. What he saw simultaneously caused joy to fill his heart and rage to boil within his veins and it was everything that he could do to keep from sinking his little sword into her back.

The dwarf in the cell was, indeed, Thorin. Bilbo had never been so happy to see someone in his entire life as he was to see the dwarf at that moment. Thorin was alive! He also appeared to have been fairly well treated. The elves had stripped him of his armor and weapons and he was the most unkept that Bilbo had ever seen him, his beard having grown long during his captivity and his hair wild and he seemed a bit thinner but it was clear that they had been feeding him—Bilbo _had_ followed an elf with a plate after all—and Bilbo could see no signs of mistreatment written into his flesh. No, they had not beaten or starved him but what angered Bilbo was the fact that they had chained him.

A single dwarf in a cell and they had seen fit to chain him to the wall. Thick manacles encircled both of his wrists and Bilbo could see where the skin beneath them had been rubbed raw by the cruel metal in his struggles to be free. None of the others were chained—even Dwalin who had kicked up quite a fuss at being thrown into a cell—and it seemed to Bilbo that it was unnecessary to have done so to Thorin.

Suddenly his attention was drawn from his lover back to the elf once more as she sighed. “Are we going to do this once more?” she asked looking at Thorin in exasperation. He merely glared at her but said nothing.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” she asked with another sigh as she picked up a staff against the wall and pulled the full plate of food on the floor beside him towards her before using the same staff to slide the new plate that was in her hands back towards him. “We have done this many times before and we both know how this will end. Why must we always come back to it? The food is not poisoned. What good does it do you to starve yourself to the point that you are forced to give in? Why must you fight against your own needs?” Still Thorin said nothing. His only indication that he had heard what she had said was the fierce glare that he was leveling at her.

With a sigh that was filled with disgust she turned and walked back out the door, shutting it behind her and leaving Thorin and Bilbo alone in the dark cell. Bilbo stood absolutely still, waiting for the light from her torch to fade entirely before he dared to move and then he had to wait longer still for his eyes to adjust enough for him to be able to see the dwarf before him in the dim light coming from further along the passage.

The moment that he was sure that she was out of earshot, he took a chance.

“Thorin?” he whispered, not wanting to startle the dwarf even if he was chained. Thorin was ferocious in battle and Bilbo knew that startling his lover while he was already imprisoned by his enemies was not a good long-term survival plan. He heard the infernal clink of the chains as Thorin leapt to his feet at the unexpected sound and felt remorse flood through him that he may have caused his lover pain.

“Who-who’s there?” The dwarf demanded, speaking for the first time since Bilbo had found him, his voice hoarse with disuse. “Show yourself!” The use of his name had startled Thorin even if Bilbo had not intended to do so. He was unsure if the elf that brought him food even knew his name, if so she had never used it. She rarely said more than was absolutely necessary. So to hear it spoken now, after so long alone . . . it cracked his resolve to remain silent, as did the voice. There had been something achingly familiar about that voice.

“Insufferable dwarf,” Bilbo replied with a small smile walking towards the sound of Thorin’s voice, “chained to a wall and _still_ giving orders. I am wounded that you had to ask such a question, My King. I would think that you would recognize _my_ voice after all the time we have traveled together. I truly am offended, Thorin. I thought that you loved me.”

“Bilbo?” Thorin breathed. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?” He sounded more excited that Bilbo had ever heard him, save when he spoke of Erebor, but suddenly his tone changed becoming the most morose that Bilbo had ever heard from him.

“Never mind,” Thorin said in a sad whisper. “It’s not actually you. Just as it was not actually Fíli and Kíli yesterday . . . or was that earlier today . . . or the day before yesterday. I do not remember. I can't tell time in this silence. I don't know if I've been here a week or a year. The point is that it is impossible for you to be here. The solitude has finally taken its toll on me and I am going mad. Just as my grandfather did. Only instead of gold, it is thoughts of those that I love while I am trapped alone in the darkness that are driving me mad. You are merely another figment of my imagination. Just like Frerin, Dís, the boys. You’re not truly here. You're dead. You can't be here.”

The despair and helplessness in Thorin's voice broke Bilbo's heart. He had never seen Thorin so broken. Once more hatred for the elves seared his veins that they would be so cruel as to keep him chained alone in the dark where his thoughts could eat him alive when his company was kept together where they could comfort one another. He ached to hold Thorin and promise him that it would be alright before leaving him so that he could storm into the throne room of the Elf King and give him a piece of his mind on the proper care of dwarves. He knew that the second idea would be reckless and foolish so he contented himself with doing only the first.

“Could a figment of your imagination do this?” Bilbo whispered before closing the distance between them and capturing Thorin’s mouth in a gentle kiss. For a moment the dwarf was there, with him, meeting him passion for passion but suddenly Thorin pulled away roughly before sinking to the floor and fisting his hands into his hair with a cry of frustration.

“No,” he whispered, his voice filled with what was clearly a sob. “No. This isn’t real. It _cannot_ be real. They-they told me that Bilbo was not captured with the others. If this is real, and you are actually Bilbo that means that he is dead. I knew that you were dead. That’s why I cannot see you, isn’t it?” Thorin continued speaking, but Bilbo could not understand what the dwarf said as he curled in on himself in the darkness as it was mingled Khuzdul and Westron but the pain was clear. Bilbo’s broken heart shattered into smaller pieces at the anguish that he heard in the Thorin’s voice. He hadn’t realized that the dwarf thought that _he_ was dead.  With a quick glance around, Bilbo decided that he _had_ to risk it and slipped the Ring from his finger and into his pocket.

“I am not dead, Thorin,” Bilbo said firmly, stepping towards the dwarf once more. “If you wish to see me, simply look. I am quite visible now.”

“Do not torture me with such _lies_ ,” Thorin hissed venomously. “I cannot bear it. Bilbo is dead. The elves told me as much. Bilbo is dead. Be gone!”

“How do you know it’s a lie if you won’t even look you stubborn dwarf!?” Bilbo snapped kneeling before Thorin and placing a gentle hand on the back of his and attempting to loosen the death grip he had on his hair. “Thorin, trust me. Just _look_! I _am_ real and I _am_ here and I am _not_ dead. Do ghosts or hallucinations have warm skin?” Thorin said nothing but did move lift his head and open his eyes to look at Bilbo. The wealth of the pain and despair in their blue depths hit Bilbo almost like a physical blow. But then Thorin blinked in surprise and the pain disappeared under a wave of joy and relief before he tried to throw his arms around his hobbit only to be stopped short by the chains. Thorin let out a nearly feral growl of frustration.

“Blasted elves!” he snarled viciously. “Every thought that I have had of you since I have been here was of my desire to feel you safe within my arms once more—even though I _knew_ that I never would—and now that you are before me I can’t carry it through.”

“Yes you can,” Bilbo replied scooting into the circle of Thorin’s arms and wrapping his own firmly around the dwarf and resting his head over Thorin's heart. “You may not be able to hold me, but I can hold you. May I ask why they have chained you? None of the others are in quite this predicament.”

“You’ve seen the others? How are they?” Thorin said suddenly his tone growing desperate once more. “My nephews? They have not been mistreated, have they? They haven’t been—“

“They are fine, Thorin,” Bilbo said gently. “Kíli is beyond bored being trapped in a cell and Fíli is worried that he will spend his entire reign as King trapped here and go down in the annals of history as the worst King of the line of Durin ever. But, no, they have not been mistreated—any more than the fact that they are being imprisoned at any rate. There has been no torture—other than boredom (which Kíli argues _must_ be a form of torture)—and they are not even chained. Which brings me back to my question: why are you?”

Thorin smiled sadly at the idea of Kíli—his sweet energetic nephew—pacing restlessly and wearing a path into the stone floor of his cell and driving his captors insane in his own boredom before he banished that thought. It was too painful to imagine someone as exuberant and wild as Kíli in a cage. It made his very soul ache as he thought of how difficult this would be on his nephew. Kíli would not long survive in such conditions, or at least not as himself. True, his body would survive but what made him _Kíli_ would extinguish before long. Thorin hated himself for leading them to this fate. And Fíli . . . he knew firsthand what his nephew was going through. The mantle of leadership was a difficult one and to have it thrust upon you in a time of darkness . . . even if it was not yet Fíli’s to bear, his heart went out to his nephew for the anguish that Fíli was going through. His only shred of comfort was that they were not being physically harmed.

“Are you going to answer me?” Bilbo asked after the silence had stretched longer than it should have.

“Yes,” Thorin replied. “I apologize, I was lost in thought. They chained me because . . . well, let’s just say that I am not a _model_ prisoner. Imprisonment does not sit well with me and I tend to be a tad _violent_ when provoked. Especially when I am suffering from grief and am being forcibly restrained from those that I love.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said with a wry smile. “I have seen you in a rage before, and while I _will_ admit that your rages are rather impressive, I have to wonder what are even _you_ going to do through a solid oak door? Surely they were not frightened that you would beat it down with your bare hands.”

“My original cell did not have an oaken door,” Thorin replied with a dark tone and a feral grin. “It was barred. And suffice it to say that more than one elf that dared venture too near it . . . well, they are no longer members of the _fair_ folk . . . if you catch my meaning.”

“You . . . you killed them?” Bilbo asked in shock. While he could understand Thorin’s anger and frustration he had never though the dwarf capable of murder. Killing on a battlefield, of course but murder that would not protect him or his kin . . . Bilbo had to admit that it made him feel squeamish to think that Thorin was capable of such a thing.

“No,” Thorin said flatly, clearly disliking the answer. “But their _fair_ features will never be the same again.” Bilbo sighed in relief. Thorin beating them he could more than deal with. He had felt the desire to do so himself but . . . he was glad that his lover was not also a murderer.

“Now it is my turn to ask a question,” Thorin said suddenly. “How did you become invisible? Is this an ability that all hobbits possess?”

“No,” Bilbo said warily. “It is not an ability of hobbits. I . . . I found . . . I  . . . well I _have_ a magic Ring that makes me invisible.”

“Where did you come by such a thing?” Thorin asked in wonder. He had only ever heard tell of such things and that was in children’s tails. He had no idea that such rings actually existed and for Bilbo to possess one . . . their escape no longer seemed quite so impossible.

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Bilbo snapped.

“My dear hobbit,” Thorin said stroking Bilbo’s face. “I would never accuse you of such a thing. You are no thief even if your title is ‘Burglar.’ Now, how did you come by it?”

“It was the second stake in my riddle game with the creature Gollum,” Bilbo lied. “The first layer of our wager was that if he lost he would lead me out and if I lost he would eat me,” Bilbo paused to allow Thorin’s growl of anger to subside before he continued. “The second layer was that if I lost I would give him my sword—not that it would do me much good once I was dead—and that if he lost he would give me his magic Ring.”

“Do you always gamble with such high stake?” Thorin muttered thoughtfully. He had not taken Bilbo for much of a gambler when they first met but as he thought through the hobbit’s actions since the quest began he realized that Bilbo did tend to excel when the stakes were the highest and lives were on the line. Not a bad trait, really.

“Some would say yes,” Bilbo replied with a smile. “As do you. How much higher could the stakes be, Thorin? The gamble that you have led us on does not just involve your life but the lives of thirteen others and has greater stakes than any gamble I have ever made. Either we live and become obscenely wealthy and you regain your kingdom or we die. Stakes do not get higher than that, my dear dwarf.”

“In that we are well-matched,” Thorin replied with a bitter laugh. “Neither of us have the sense to decline a wager if we think we have any chance of victory. We’re both fools.”

“Perhaps,” Bilbo agreed with a small laugh of his own, “let us only hope that we are never on opposite sides of any wager in that case.”

“I will agree with that hope,” Thorin said, his laugh less bitter as Bilbo’s presence raised his spirits. “I do not foresee such a gamble ending well for either of us. We are both far too stubborn for our own good.”

“We are,” Bilbo agreed. “I, however, am willing to admit when I was wrong.”

“Did I not admit that I was wrong about you?” Thorin cut in only to be shushed by Bilbo.

“I wasn’t done yet!” Bilbo said in a mock angry tone. “Here I was going to apologize to you for doubting your judgment on elves and you decided to take offence at my word choices. I swear that I do not know what I see in you. More often than not you are an in—“ His words were silenced as Thorin captured his mouth in a kiss once more.

“I have not seen you for weeks,” Thorin whispered when they pulled apart once more. “I spent _weeks_ believing that you were dead and the first words that you have for me are not of love but rather an insult on your ability to tolerate me. Did you not miss me at all? Did our time apart only serve to show you how incompatible we are? Do you desire me no longer?” There was a light tone to his voice that Bilbo had never heard before. It took him a moment to realize that Thorin was teasing him. The knowledge did unholy things to the hobbit and he threw himself at Thorin, capturing the King’s mouth and pinning the dwarf to the wall in the force of his passion.

“You have no idea how much I have missed you.” Bilbo breathed when they paused to catch their breath. “You weren’t the only one who believed their lover to be dead. I never thought that I would see you again in this world or the next. And if you give me a moment I will show you just how much I desire you.” Bilbo’s hands had begun to wander inappropriately and Thorin felt his eyes go wide in shock at what the hobbit was clearly proposing.

“You intend to bed me _here_?” Thorin asked incredulously. “We cannot do this here, Bilbo.” He cursed himself as Bilbo’s hand brushed against him and caused a traitorous moan to rise up his throat. He could not deny that he wanted— _needed_ —this but . . . in a jail cell? Their first time had been against a tree in the woods did Bilbo truly want the second to be in a prison with Thorin in chains?

“Why ever not?” Bilbo asked with a smirk. “You desire me. I desire you. What is there to stop us?” In response Thorin shook his wrist, causing his chain to rattle.

“In case you have forgotten in your lust, I am bound,” Thorin replied in a dry tone. “I am afraid _that_ will hinder our lovemaking, Bilbo.” Rather than deter him, Bilbo found that the idea of Thorin being bound aroused him. He had never thought that such a thing would occur but it did. Rather than reply verbally, Bilbo leaned in and began kissing his way down Thorin’s neck, allowing his mouth to explain what his tongue could not.

“Surely you do not intend to go through with this!” Thorin said, his tone clearly scandalized. “Bilbo!”

“You asked me to show you that I have missed you and desire you still,” Bilbo replied, his voice husky with desire. “Can you think of a better way for me to prove it to you, Thorin? Or is the problem that _you_ no longer desire _me_?”

“Of course I still desire you, you foolish hobbit!” Thorin snapped. “I would have to be a dead dwarf to not desire you and I may still then.”

“Then prove it,” Bilbo replied. “I need this, Thorin. I need _you_. Will you deny me this?” Thorin sighed as Bilbo nipped the sensitive skin below his ear and felt himself begin to stir with desire.

“I can deny you nothing Bilbo,” Thorin replied with a soft smile. “Just remember that I allowed this if I ever ask for anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I will deny you nothing, either, Thorin,” Bilbo replied as he began to undo Thorin’s clothing. “You would never request something that would cause me lasting harm. I trust you.” Bilbo’s words about trust awoke something dark in Thorin and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to put them to the test. He wondered just how far Bilbo would allow him to go to prove his trust and vowed that if they ever managed to get out of this cell he and Bilbo would have to discover the limit. As it was, he allowed himself to lose himself in the touch of Bilbo’s hands on his skin. Despite the hobbit’s words about need and passion, his touch was gentle, exploratory and nearly reverent.

“By Eru how I have missed you, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered placing gentle kisses along his neck. “Promise me that you will never disappear on me again.”

“I promise it,” Thorin whispered turning his head to capture Bilbo’s lips once more and attempting to embrace the hobbit only to stop with another growl of frustration. At Thorin’s words, Bilbo let out a needy moan and redoubled his efforts, passion fueling his touches once more and leaving burning trails of fire along Thorin’s skin despite the cloth that was still between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, there is a smutty outtake posted in the sister story Dreams of Passion: How Things Should Be if you just can't help yourselves :)


	25. Worries and Plans

Once they had reached completion, Bilbo remained where he was for a few precious moments before sanity returned to them and they remembered just where they were and just how great of a risk they had just taken.

"Quickly, Bilbo," Thorin whispered urgently. "Dress yourself and put your Ring back on. Someone may have heard that." Bilbo's eyes widened in fear as he hastily did as he was told, not even bothering to clean himself in his haste. After some time had passed with no sign of anyone coming they began to relax once more.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked quietly. The dwarf merely hummed in response. "You bit me," Bilbo accused rubbing his tender shoulder. At the dwarf's laugh Bilbo swatted him with the back of his hand. "It's not funny! That'll leave a bruise, you mark my words. What on earth will the others think!?"

"Bilbo, you're invisible," Thorin reminded him. "None will see it. And where I bit you none should. Speaking of seeing you, there is a bit less of you than there was the last time I saw you. Are you eating?"

"What I can," Bilbo replied with an invisible shrug. "The others save food for me but . . . they are getting no more than you are and they have to eat as well. I also steal from the kitchen occasionally. I don't like stealing even if it is their own fault that we're here. Not much of a burglar, am I?"

"Eat," Thorin said, nudging his head at the plate on the floor beside them. "I do not want it. Have it."

"Thorin, you can't refuse to eat, you stubborn dwarf!" Bilbo countered. "What about when I find a way to get us all free. What will you do if you have starved yourself to the point that you can't walk? I don't intend to carry you! Eat it."

"I won't survive on their _'hospitality_ ,'" Thorin snarled glaring at the plate as if it had offered him offence. "Eat it or it will go to waste. I will not." Bilbo sighed in frustration.

"Split it with me," Bilbo argued shrewdly recalling just how Thorin tended to put Bilbo's wellfare above his own. "I've already eaten some today. I'll only eat half and I won't eat that if you don't."

"Then it will remain there for her to take away," Thorin replied stubbornly. "I will only eat again once we are free. Take _that_ as an incentive to get us out."

"You think I need an incentive?!" Bilbo snapped glaring at Thorin angrily. "You think I _want_ to stay here in the darkness, stealing what I can and sleeping where I can? _If_ I can? You think that I _like_ being here anymore than you do? That I _like_ seeing my friends in cages like animals? An incentive indeed!"

"Bilbo," Thorin sighed wishing that he could do more to comfort his hobbit than offer mere words. "I am sorry. I did not mean it that way. I know that you are doing the best you can to free us. I also know that it may be impossible to do. You don't have to stay, you know? I _know_ how the darkness bothers you. I will release you from your contract. You do not have to stay here. None will hold it against you."

"That is perhaps the most foolish thing you have ever said to me, Thorin," Bilbo scoffed incredulously. "You honestly think that I can leave you and the rest of the company here? You think it is only a contract that keeps me here? Foolish dwarf!"

"Peace, Bilbo," Thorin said gently. "I only wanted you to know that it is an option and all you need do is ask for it. Quarrelsome hobbit."

"I haven't had a good night's rest in . . . I don't even know how long we've been here," Bilbo replied sullenly. "You'd be a bit quarrelsome as well. You are a bit temperamental on the best of days; I'd hate to see what _you_ would be like in a sleep-deprived state."

"Are you truly not sleeping?" Thorin asked concern for Bilbo in his tone. "I thought that you were only saying that to prove your point."

"How can I sleep when there is no place that is free from elves?" Bilbo demanded. "I nip off into corners every now and then but . . . I'm terrified of being captured, Thorin. I-I can't spend the rest of my life here. I _can't._ And I know that the less I sleep the more likely I am to make a mistake and get caught but . . . " Bilbo trailed off, his panicked breathing filling the cell.

"Bilbo!" Thorin snapped trying to get the hobbit's attention before he could go into a full-fledged panic attack. "Bilbo, that will not be your fate. You won't spend the rest of your life here. I swear it. Now, come here. You can sleep until she comes back to replace that food with fresh. No one will catch you in here. They won't come near enough to me to trip over you. Sleep." Even though Bilbo knew that was a promise that Thorin could not make—much like his own promise to Thorin about him dying of old age—Bilbo was comforted by it with a sigh he moved back towards Thorin and wiggled his way under the dwarf king's arm to rest his head on Thorin's shoulder.

"Thorin?" Bilbo muttered sleepily, soothed by the familiar beat of his lover's heart beneath his cheek. The dwarf hummed in response, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Is it your fault that Dwalin is bald and Balin's hair is white?" Thorin laughed.

"They told you that, did they?" Thorin asked fondly. He had long known that they believed that he was, but even with _his_ skills as a prankster he had never been _that_ good. He hadn't had anything to do with it. But Dís . . . well, she _did_ admit to attempting to dye their hair that night in honor of her brother's new beard. "I knew that the moment I left you alone they would be telling you tales."

"Where I heard it doesn't matter," Bilbo replied. "Are you?"

"Does it matter if I am?" Thorin replied, curious as to the answer and refusing to implicate his little sister in the matter. "Would it change how you feel about me to know that I played a prank on my friends that altered their appearances forever?"

"No," Bilbo yawned. "It would only solidify my belief that we need to team up against your nephews. Those two boys could use a good pranking. I still haven't forgiven them for what they did to us."

"Sleep, Bilbo," Thorin ordered, a smirk audible in his words. "You are talking nonsense. I would _never_ pull a prank on my beloved sister-sons. That is not appropriate behavior for a king or an uncle." Though the words said one thing, Thorin's tone said the exact opposite. He _liked_ the idea of teaming up with his mate to prank his nephews. Once they escaped this prison he and Bilbo would have to put some serious consideration into it.

"So," Bilbo muttered, catching his lover's tone, "we'll talk about it when I wake back up?"

"We will," Thorin promised. "Now sleep." Bilbo nuzzled his shoulder as he attempted to find a more comfortable position before he sighed contentedly and his breathing began to even out. Thorin leaned his head to the side slightly and rested it on the top of Bilbo's head, the hobbit's curly hair tickling his cheek. He had to admit that this was perhaps the strangest situation he had ever been in. It was strange for him to be able to feel Bilbo against him and not be able to see him. With a grin Thorin realized that Bilbo's Ring would come in very handy in their war with his nephews. Fíli and Kíli would finally learn the true meaning of the word 'prank.' He almost felt sorry for them. Almost. Those two lads would have no idea what hit them.

**ooOO88OOoo**

While Bilbo was getting his first restful sleep in weeks, the rest of the dwarves were practically thrumming with anxiousness. It had been three meals since they had last seen or heard Bilbo and they were beginning to worry for him. They wondered if he had been captured, injured or worse, killed. He was very small and invisible. It would not be difficult for someone to accidently set something on him or kill him intentionally as an intruder. Elves senses were preternaturally sharp.

"Do-do you think that he's alright?" Kíli asked quietly, his voice sounding impossibly small and young in the dark. "I mean, you don't think he. . . that he's. . . " he trailed off unable to finish his question. Almost as if asking if Bilbo was dead would make it true.

"Bilbo?" Bofur asked with mock bravado. "Of course he's fine. Probably just curled up for a nap somewhere. He has to sleep too, ya know?"

"For an entire day?" Fíli asked with a snort. "Even he can't sleep that long."

"Maybe he can," Dori cut in with a small laugh. "Bombur slept for a full day once we were thrown in here."

"I was bored," Bombur retorted. "What else is there to do? Not like I can just go for a stroll. Sleeping is one way to cure the boredom. And you know what they say about sleep . . ."

"It'll take more than a couple days of sleep to make you attractive, Brother," Bofur replied with a warm smile that they could hear even if they couldn't see it to take the sting from his words. "Everyone knows that I am the more attractive of the two of us. You cannot compete even with a solid week to sleep."

"Which is why _I_ have a wife waiting for me back in Ered Luin and you do not," Bombur replied cheekily. "Isn't it, Brother?"

"He's got you there, laddie," Balin replied with a laugh. "You may think you are more attractive but at least one dwarf woman disagreed with you." The those that could see it had to admit that the blush that covered Bofur's cheeks at his brother's statement was particularly amusing. But even if he could have, Kíli would have found no amusement in it. There was only one thing on his mind and it blocked out all other things—including amusement.

"Do you really think that he has just found a safe place to sleep?" Kíli asked, leaning against the bars of his cell in an attempt to see Bofur's face even though he knew from experience that it wouldn't work.

"I don't know, lad," Bofur sighed his good humor disappearing at such a direct question from his King's brother. "He could have. Or . . . let's just hope he's sleeping, alright. I can't bear to think of the alternative."

"What alternative," Dwalin asked suddenly. "That he has managed to find a way out and is scouting it out for us?" The incredulous silence that met his words told him more about their disbelief of such an outcome than their expressions could have.

"What?" He defended harshly. "Am I not allowed to attempt to think positively? The hobbit is intelligent, and crafty. He _may_ have found an escape route. I've learned better than to underestimate Bilbo Baggin's ingenuity."

"If he found a way out do you think he'll come back?" Fíli asked quietly. His own fears and insecurities making him realize that it was a possibility that even if Bilbo could fit through whatever passage he found, with his small size and invisibility, it was possible that it was a path that they could not follow. He didn't think that Bilbo would abandon them, not truly, but depression and darkness were beginning to take their toll on him and he knew that it had to be worse for their hobbit. He would not blame Bilbo for abandoning them.

"Aye lad," Balin replied wishing that he could offer their young king better comfort than mere words. "If he's able, Bilbo will return to us. He won't abandon us. We matter more to him than that."

"I thought so," Fíli said with a sigh. "But what if he doesn't come back? I . . . I've been thinking and I know that none of you are going to like this, but I have come to a decision. Uncle is dead," Fíli said simply, dispassionately, knowing that if he let himself feel the pain of his words he would never finish what he was about to say. "We all know what this means. I'm of age and it now falls to me to lead our people. I can't very well do that from a jail cell. If we do not see Bilbo for three more meals, I will speak with the Elf King." There were indignant noises and sounds of protest. Fíli waited for them to quiet a bit before he finished.

"I'll remind him that we're homeless _wandering_ dwarves," Fíli continued. "Yes, we wandered on the wrong path but that happens. I will let him know that we meant them no harm and that we were merely attempting to travel to see Dáin in the Iron Hills."

"What if he asks why we came through Mirkwood rather than going around it to the north?" Balin asked attempting to see just how far Fíli had thought this through and wondering why such a lie had never occurred to him.

"Near Grundebad?" Fíli scoffed. "After we cut a swath of destruction through Goblin Town and stirred the hive. Not likely. Mirkwood was the safest option." Balin nodded, his heart constricting at just how much like Thorin Fíli sounded when he spoke so dispassionately and with such scorn. It made Balin miss his dead friend all the more.

"And why didn't we go south to the Great Forest Road?" Dwalin demanded taking his own turn to poke holes in Fíli's story. "He'll want to know that."

"Same reason," Fíli replied simply. "We just awoke the ire of the goblins of the Misty Mountains. This was the first eastward track we came across. We took it. How were we to know it was an elf-path? There were no markings."

"It won't matter, Fíli," Kíli said quietly, no hope in his words at all. "It won't matter how convincing of a lie you tell him. Not after what we said to that elf our first day here. Not once he realizes who you are. They won't free us knowing that doing so risks war."

"I know that Kíli," Fíli replied sadly. "But I have to try." 


	26. Silences and Rememberance

Despite Thorin's promise to wake Bilbo when the elf returned with a new plate of food, he found that he was unable to do so. But it was not for lack of trying on his part. Bilbo simply would not wake. At the first sign of the torch, Thorin had put his hand over Bilbo's mouth and given him a firm shake to wake him. Bilbo hadn't even noticed. If it hadn't been for his continued breathing, Thorin would have thought that he was dead for all the response his actions earned him. With a sigh he realized that Bilbo would not be escaping once more this time around. The hobbit was simply too exhausted. He only hoped that Bilbo would not wake while she was within earshot. He could see no way to keep his hand over Bilbo's mouth and draw no attention to the hobbit's presence.

This time she said nothing before she entered, he glared at her as he always did, his anger not the least bit appeased by the hobbit sleeping against him. Bilbo was suffering even if he was not dead and it was the fault of her king that he was. Thorin would not forgive them just because they hadn't actually managed to kill his mate. They would have if Bilbo had not had the Ring. His continued survival was not due to them. he felt a sneer cross his face as she smiled at the fact that the bread was no longer on his plate. She thought that he had eaten it. He hadn't. He had hidden it in Bilbo's coat pocket for the hobbit to find later.

"Did you not find the soup to your liking?" she asked. It almost sounded as though she genuinely cared but Thorin knew better than to rise to her bait. She was an elf. He knew that she would take great amusement from him complaining about the food.

"I thought that perhaps the meat would tempt you to eat it," she continued. Thorin looked away from her without saying a word. He had tried the meat that came from the forest of Mirkwood. If anything the presence of their meat would put him off the soup even more. However he said no such thing. With a sigh she pushed the plate back towards him and walked out closing the door behind her in silence. Thorin flinched as he heard the bolt slide into place once more. He only hoped that Bilbo would not be too angry that he was still trapped here when he awoke.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"Give him three more meals, lad," Balin pleaded when a deep sigh from Fíli revealed that he was preparing to carry out his plan. "This place is a maze. He may have gotten lost."

"Maybe Thorin's sense of direction rubbed off on him when they were—"Glóin said only to cut himself off as he remembered that Throin was dead. "I'm sorry, lads," he whispered into the oppressive silence that had followed his use of Thorin's name. "That was in poor taste."

"No," Fíli disagreed gently. "Uncle would want to be remembered fondly. Though perhaps for something a bit more majestic than his horrible sense of direction."

"We don't get to pick what we're remembered for, laddie," Balin said with a soft sad laugh. "There are many things that Throin will be remembered for that I doubt he would have chosen. That is just the way of things. For me, he will always be the mischievous dwarfling that continually landed me into trouble with my father. He was never able to suppress those urges entirely. He was pulling pranks on Dwalin and me right up until we left Ered Luin, though he would deny it where he here."

"I'll always remember him as the King that gave me a chance," Nori said unexpectedly. "Most dwarves would never have allowed me on such an expedition but Thorin didn't care about my past. He knew that sometimes we all have to do what's necessary to survive. I'll always remember him for that.

"Thorin was a great warrior," Glóin said sadly. "That is what I will remember him for. Some of you lads only got to see hints of it but . . . Thorin was glorious in battle."

"He was," Dwalin agreed softly. "But what I will remember him for the most was how well he was able to suppress those instincts and help Dís raise her boys. Seeing him with you lads . . . that was what gave me the hope to court my wife. If Thorin could be gentle enough to raise children . . . well, it meant that there was a chance for me  as well."

"I have too many good memories of Uncle to pick a favorite but if I did . . . it would have to be the time that Fíli and I invaded his meeting with Dáin and the other lords stark naked as we tried to avoid a bath with Mother right on our heels," Kíli said with a laugh. "The look on his face as he tried to control his laughter and remain the stoic King of Durin's Folk in Exile rather than our Uncle Thorin while two naked dwarflings clung to him desperately . . . it was priceless. I thought that he was going to explode."

"I will admit that I'd never seen quiet that expression on his face before," Balin admitted with a laugh. "I still can't believe that he allowed you two to stay, provided of course that your mother was willing to bring you clothing."

"So you had two naked dwarflings in a council meeting?" Bofur asked with a laugh. "Are children really appropriate there?"

"No," Fíli agreed. "But Uncle could never deny us anything, not really. And we wanted to stay.

"At least there Mother couldn't give us a bath," Kíli added. Those that _knew_ Dís weren't actually sure that they would have put it beyond her to fill a tub and bathe her sons right there had it suited her to do so, but they let Kíli believe what he would.

"The only bad part," Fíli continued with a sigh, "was that since we had told Mother that as his heirs we _should_ be involved in matters of state as a way of getting out of a bath, he took that to mean that we wanted to attend ever meeting from then on out."

"If I recall he eventually changed his mind," Dwalin said with a laugh. He was still amused at how well the boys had managed to turn Thorin's revenge back on him.

"He did," Fíli said, the smirk evident in his voice. "He only made us come until Kíli got especially bored one meeting and he and I _might_ have entertained ourselves by trying to see who could get a ball of paper into the mouth of one of Dáin's advisors that was sleeping across the table."

"I managed it first," Kíli said proudly.

"He nearly choked on it!" Balin chided. "That is hardly something to be proud of!"

"But he didn't!" Kíli argued as Fíli said, "It freed us from meetings, didn't it?"

"And to think, Fíli's our king," Bofur sighed dramatically. "Let's just pray that he survives. I don't think the kingdom would survive Kíli."

"HEY!" Kíli snapped indignantly. "I would make a fine King!"

"Mahal help us if that happens," Dwalin sighed seriously. The others couldn't help but agree. Kíli was a fine lad but . . . he was not ready to be king just yet. Knowing him, he would likely turn his paperwork into confetti. No, if anything happened to Fíli they would be better off to name Dís as regent until Kíli was at least of age, if not longer.

"The same was said about Thorin once," Balin reminded them all. "Back when he was Kíli's age. I can remember more than just my father despairing of the future of the kingdom if that 'irresponsible prankster of a princeling' ever took the throne. Thráin was one of them. Thorin never feared for the kingdom if Kíli took over. That's a good sign, right lads?"

"Yes," Glóin countered, "but Kíli never had quite the pranking ingenuity of Thorin. Do you remember the one he pulled with Dís and Frerin on his _father_ during—"

"Thror's birthday!" Óin laughed. "I thought Thráin was going to murder him, heir or not!"

"What did he do?" Fíli asked in excitement, he had never heard this story before.

"Well, lad," Balin began with a fond smile. "It was never proven, mind you. Thorin was always good at avoiding being caught—"

"Mostly because he tricked _us_ into doing his dirty work," Dwalin muttered darkly, but with fondness coloring his tone. "I was punished more than once for some prank of his."

"True enough," Balin agreed. "At least he always apologized for causing us trouble. Anyway, he and your mother and your Uncle Frerin _may_ have stuffed your grandfather's meat with greens."

"What?" Kíli asked wondering just how they had done that. How did one stuff a piece of meat with greens. "Was it a bird?"

"No, lad!" Glóin laughed. "It was _meat_. Somehow or another—don't ask _me_ how they did it, if you really want to know ask your mother—they hollowed out his meat and replaced the middle of it with greens. It looked like a normal piece of meat up until Thráin took a bite of it and spit out a mouthful of grass. I got a good look at it as he dropped it back to his plate before rounding on his children. It was little more than a rim of meat over a ball of greens."

"I had _never_ seen him so livid," Balin said with a laugh. "His entire face was red and it looked like the veins in his neck were about to burst."

"Claimed that his children had tried to poison him," Óin added. "Said they had no way of knowing that the grass they had put into his food wasn't poisonous. Wanted to know what would have happened had they have killed him."

"Sounds familiar," Fíli muttered rubbing his backside at the memory, though the physical pain of the indignity had long since faded.

"Come to think of it . . ." Balin said slowly as he searched his memories. "Dwalin, was that?"

"It was," Dwalin replied with a short bark of a laugh. "Thorin nearly repeated Thráin's speech to the letter. Including what came after. Only time I can ever remember Thráin raising a hand to any of them. You two had it easy," Dwalin continued, addressing Fíli and Kíli.

"Easy, yeah," Kíli muttered sulkily. It was one of the few times he could ever remember being spanked by his uncle and it had been witnessed by the whole of the company he was trying to impress. "Tell that to my hind end."

"Thorin at least drug you _out_ of camp before he did it," Balin replied with a laugh. "Thráin didn't give his children the courtesy. "

"He didn't!" Fíli breathed, his eyes going wide. "Right there at the table?"

"He did," Dwalin, Balin, Óin and Glóin all confirmed. Fíli and Kíli's faces were twin masks of shock. No wonder they had never heard this story before. They couldn't see their mother sharing that story. If they had children they had no intention of telling them of their debacle with the pipeweed.

"I've never seen Thorin so embarrassed," Balin added. "I almost felt sorry for him. Almost."

"They never pranked their father again," Dwalin said with a shrug. "It must have worked."

"They did too!" Glóin countered. "They just never got caught again. Do you remember the situation regarding Thráin's missing ax?"

"Of course I remember it," Dwalin burst out angrily. " _I_ was the one blamed for it. I swear I never touched it!" This statement led to a round of disbelieving snorts that led to yet more tales of the exploits of a younger Thorin and how his cousins continued to be pulled into the trouble (and how he continually managed to worm his way out of it). Fíli and Kíli were quite distracted and Fíli soon forgot about talking to the elf king entirely in his delight at hearing about his uncle during happier times. None of the others could blame him. This felt like a much more appropriate way of remembering Thorin's life than remembering just the sad parts of it. They may have shaped Thorin into the dwarf he became, but they were not all there was to him. As they exchanged memories and stories they silently pledged that Thorin would be remembered not only as King Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thror but also as Thorin the dwarf, brother of Dís and uncle of Fíli and Kíli. They owed him no less.


	27. Blood, Desperation and Veiled Truths

Bilbo woke only a short time after the elf left. Moaning contentedly as he snuggled deeper into Thorin's shoulder for a moment as he had many times before.

"Is it time to move out yet?" Bilbo mumbled sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes.

"It is beyond time, my dear hobbit," Thorin replied sadly. "We have been still far too long as it is. Durin's Day is fast approaching while we delay here."

"The others are going to be cross with us!" Bilbo said suddenly attempting to sit up only to be stopped by Thorin's arm as his abrupt movement caused it to move forward and hit the end of the chain with a clank; the dwarf wincing as the metal bit into his flesh.

"OH!" Bilbo cried pulling the arm back towards him on instinct and causing the chain to rattle once more and earning him another wince from the dwarf king. "I am so sorry! I-I should have—"

"It's quite alright, Bilbo," Thorin replied moving his hand clumsily up the hobbit's arm more slowly to stroke the his face.

"It very well is not!" Bilbo retorted wiping a trickle of blood off Thorin's forearm and showing his finger to the dwarf as if Thorin was unaware of the fact that it had been there. "You're bleeding!"

"I do not blame you for that, Bilbo," Thorin said seriously not bothering to comment on the gesture that he knew Bilbo to be making even if he could not see it. "You were not the one to chain me. This is not your fault."

"Be that as it may, this is _not_ fine, Thorin," Bilbo said harshly. "Why I have half a mind to storm right up to that _pompous_ elf and . . ." Bilbo trailed off in a little sound of fury that Thorin couldn't help but laugh at. He had never imagined that Bilbo was capable of such anger.

"What would you do?" Thorin inquired. "I would like the mental image as I know that it will never actually happen."

"I don't know," Bilbo sighed. "I'm not very good at this violence thing. More likely than not I would end up lecturing him on the proper treatment of common dwarves, let alone dwarf kings. That's how we hobbits tend to deal with anger. Speaking of proper treatment of dwarves, shouldn't you be getting more food sometime soon?" Thorin shifted uncomfortably against him and Bilbo felt his stomach clinch almost painfully.

"She already came, didn't she?" Bilbo asked with a sigh.

"She did," Thorin replied. "If you are hungry, the food should still be warm. It was not long ago."

"You were supposed to wake me!" Bilbo protested. "What will the others be thinking? I have been gone far longer than I tend to be. They . . . They'll—"

"I tried," Thorin said with a shrug. "You would not wake. And I know that it is horribly selfish of me but . . . I am almost glad that you did not. I . . ." he paused to take a breath and when he continued, it was in the same desperate tone he had used when Bilbo had first found him and it broke Bilbo's heart to hear it from him.

"I . . . please, _please_ don't leave me alone in the dark again," Thorin begged, his fingers digging almost painfully into Bilbo's arm and his breath coming in panicked gasps at the prospect. "I . . . I can't stand it if you leave me alone. I . . . it's been too long. I thought that I could be alone but—Mahal, Bilbo, don't leave me alone again! Please don't abandon me here!" Bilbo sighed and felt a tear leak from his eye at Thorin's behavior. He had been wrong in his assessment before: Thorin had been tortured. Even if his body was mostly whole, his mind had been damaged by his solitude. He wondered if the Elf King would take any satisfaction in knowing that he had won.

Later, Bilbo would think of the absurdity of the situation but at the time it did not even occur to him just how strange their situation truly was. His only thought was his desire to soothe his upset lover.

"Shhh," he whispered standing and pulling Thorin's head against his chest while he stroked his hair. "Hush, Thorin. It's alright. It's not that I want to go. I'd rather stay here with you but I _need_ to go. Don't worry I'll be back. I'm not abandoning you, you silly dwarf. I _will_ come back. And I'm not leaving for  a while. I can't leave until she comes back. I'm going to be here for a bit and then—"

"Don't say it," Thorin just short of whimpered, a weak sound that broke Bilbo's heart anew. "Don't say that you're going to leave me. It's bad enough that I know you are."

"Then I won't say it," Bilbo soothed. "We'll just let it hover there. Just remember, I'm staying for a while at any rate."

"Take off the Ring?" Thorin commanded, his tone making it more a request than a true command.

"Thorin," Bilbo sighed, not wanting to deny the fragile dwarf before him anything but at the same time unwilling to risk being captured and taking all their hope of escape from them.

"Please," Thorin asked. "I have no guards, Bilbo. No one ever comes down here except for the elf that brings my food. No one but me will see you and I _need_ to see you. Even though I can feel you, since I can't see you my mind is trying to tell me that you aren't really here. Please." 

"Alright," Bilbo agreed with a nod, slipping the Ring off in his pocket and appearing out of thin air. "But at the first sign—"

"I understand," Thorin replied. "I wouldn't have you risk capture for my sake. I just . . . thank you." BIlbo said nothing for a moment, but the gentle smile on his face said more than a hundred words could have. After a moment, Bilbo began eying the food on the floor contemplatively. Even if it was elvish . . . it smelled amazing.

"Eat it," Thorin said with a laugh at the longing on Bilbo's face, though the laugh was diminished by the hollows he could see in Bilbo's cheeks. The hobbit was far too thin.

"We've discussed this," Bilbo said resolutely pushing the food further from himself as if distance would decrease the temptation he felt. "I'll eat half if you will. If you won't then neither will I."

"Bilbo," Thorin sighed exasperatedly. He could see how clearly the hobbit desired the food. He was being foolish.

"No, Thorin," Bilbo said. "Don't you dare 'Bilbo' me! I am being no more _foolish_ than you are! Just what do you think you're going to accomplish by starving yourself? Clearly _they_ don't care if you eat or not. They're still bringing the same things and they haven't even bothered to try to unchain you and see if that's the problem."

"They _did_ try that," Thorin admitted with a feral smirk. "They _did_ try to unchain me the first time I refused to eat."

"I take it that didn't work out well for them," Bilbo replied with a wry smile already knowing the answer from how pleased with himself Thorin looked. Bilbo felt a bit disturbed that he was smiling at his lover admitting to assault but he pushed it down. The elves had deserved it after all and many problems in the world—such as Lobelia's repeated intrusions in his home—could be solved with violence.

"It did not," Thorin replied. "Nor did attempting to place the food into my hands. That's when they started using the staff on the wall. Say, Bilbo, do you think that you—"

"No!" Bilbo snapped. "No, Thorin. I know what you're about to suggest and you just stop right there. I am _not_ going to attempt to take down an elf with that staff."

"I think you could," Thorin said attempting to sway the hobbit to his way of thinking through praise. "You could hide against the wall, invisible, and when she stepped in just—"

"Hit her in the knees?" Bilbo scoffed. "The most _that_ will do is make her angry. I can't fight her, Thorin. And even if I could, what good would it do? Even if I _could_ take her down and render her unconscious, _and_ if she had the keys to free you . . . where would we go? I may be invisible but you're not. You can't hide in this fortress. Until I have a way of getting us all out, you're just going to have to stay here."

"Chained to a wall like an animal," Thorin muttered, looking more like Kíli than Bilbo had ever seen him do before. He hadn't know that Thorin had it in him to sulk. With a wry smile—which he wisely did not allow Thorin to see—Bilbo wondered if that was where Kíli had learned it.

"You know I would change that if I could," Bilbo whispered placing a hand on Thorin's cheek to turn the dwarf back to face him. "I don't like seeing you like this any more than you like being fettered up."

"I'm not so sure about that," Thorin replied sarcastically. "You seemed to enjoy it earlier. I wouldn't put it beyond you to request that I allow you to do this again at a later date."

"Perhaps I will," Bilbo purred loving the way that Thorin's eyes darkened at the tone. "But I would not use iron. I think silk would serve the purpose without all the messy side-effects. Blue, I think. Blue silk. Dark blue, the same shade as your eyes if I could find it." Bilbo made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat at the idea.  "I think you would look amazing bound with blue silk. Would you let me?"

"You'll be the death of me, do you know that?" Thorin breathed, this possessive side of Bilbo never ceased to amaze him.

"I highly doubt that," Bilbo replied. "If I was going to be the death of you I wouldn't have bothered to save you in the first place." Thorin snorted but did not reply. He could see the logic of Bilbo's statement but refused to concede the point.

"You never answered my question," Bilbo said smirking as his lover sulked once more. "Would you let me?"

"Bilbo," Thorin fervently replied, "if you get me out of this cell I will let you tie me with whatever color ribbons you desire. Mahal! I might even let you braid flowers into my hair if that was what you wanted. If you find a way to free us, you can have _anything_ that you desire that it is in my power to give you."

"I thought I already could," Bilbo replied cheekily. "I think that was in the contract."

"But I can't fulfill my end of the contract locked in a cell and chained to a wall, now can I?" Thorin replied snippily. "If you want what I have promised you, free me."

"Dear heart, I would free you if you had nothing to offer me," Bilbo promised.

"Which is a good thing," Thorin countered bitterly. "You _are_ aware that that is truly all I have at the moment: nothing. Most of my promises are contingent on us retaking the mountain from Smaug. If we fail . . ."

"It doesn't matter, Thorin," the hobbit said leaning in to rest his head on Thorin's shoulder. "If we fail, assuming we survive the failure, we can return home. It may not be _your_ home, but Ered Luin sounds nice. We could move there. I have a bit of wealth holed up that my parents left. It's nothing compared to _your_ inheritance but . . . well, it'd be enough for us to get by on."

"You . . . you would leave your home for me?" Thorin asked shocked at the admission.

"What else did you think I was going to do if this courtship went well?" Bilbo demanded. "It's not like I could live in Bag End and keep a relationship with you and it's not likely that you would abdicate the throne that you struggled to claim to move in with me. No, there is only one solution, I'm afraid."

"I . . . I hadn't dared to hope that far ahead," Thorin admitted. "I've learned that planning too far in advance tends to end poorly." _Especially if that plan is contingent on hope_ , he added silently.

"Well, plan as far ahead as you like," Bilbo quipped. "I will get us out of here and then we can go see about that blasted dragon. If we survive _that_ , I don't foresee anything getting rid of me as far as you are concerned. I am ridiculously attached to you already. I don't see that changing." Thorin felt his lips twist in a wry smile at the backhanded way his hobbit had confessed his attachment.

"I'm ridiculously attached to you as well, my hobbit," Thorin replied.

" _Your_ hobbit?!" Bilbo squeaked. "Since when am I _your_ hobbit? I assure that I am still very much my own hobbit, Thorin Oakenshield. You can't lay claim to people like that! I don't care who you are. It's just not done!"

"We can debate possession later, Bilbo," Thorin replied with a true laugh at Bilbo's indignation. "Come, split this with me. You're far too thin and if I must force myself to eat elvish swill to convince you to take care of yourself then I will do so." Bilbo hid his smirk as he moved to Thorin's other side to pull back the tray that he had pushed away earlier and lifted the bowl towards the dwarf.

"You first," Bilbo said, glaring at Thorin stubbornly until the dwarf sighed and shook his head.

"Insufferable hobbit," he muttered as he took a sip. Bilbo smirked openly this time.

"Eternally," the hobbit replied sweetly before taking his own sip and passing the bowl back to the dwarf expectantly.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Eventually, the elf woman returned with a new plate of food. Bilbo felt Thorin tense at the first hint of torch light and knew that the dwarf was already feeling alone once more. Even if he hadn't felt him tense, the way that his hand reflexively tightened around Bilbo arm would have told him as much.

"Thorin, you have to let me go," Bilbo whispered directly into his ear. "I'll come back, I swear it, but you have to let me go." Bilbo could see just how much will power it took for Thorin to release him and he pressed his lips against the dwarf's bearded cheek in a silent kiss. "I'll come back. You'll see." Thorin looked unconvinced for half a moment before he hid his insecurity behind a mask and glared at the elf as the door opened. Bilbo crept towards the door and was pleased when she left the door open behind her as she came in.

"I see that you finally came to your senses and ate," she said superiorly.

"I see that you haven't," Thorin snarled. She seemed shocked that he had spoken and her shock was clear in her words as she next spoke.

"How have I lost my senses?" she asked, perplexed.

"By jailing me and mine," Thorin replied haughtily. "This is senseless. Do you truly think your cells will hold us indefinitely? We are resourceful. We will be free and once we are—"

"Forgive me if I do not give your threats the attention you feel that they deserve," the elf cut him off. "I am afraid, Master Dwarf, that I doubt your abilities to escape. If you were capable you would have long since done so." Thorin did not dignify her statement with a response but merely glared at her with hatred.  She said no more either, only replaced his food and left his cell, locking it behind her. Bilbo followed behind her on silent feet, memorizing the path so that he could return at a later date.

Once they reached the kitchens, Bilbo broke off and made his way cautiously to where the others were being held, eager to tell them the good news. He was shocked to hear raucous laughter coming down the corridor as well as random outbursts of Khuzdul followed by more laughter. He was even more shocked to hear Fíli's voice speaking, laughter clearly straining it despite the depression that had been plaguing him since their capture. He hoped that the news he had would lighten the heir's heart even farther.

He entered the corridor just as laugher burst out again. After a quick glance around to make sure that there were no guards, Bilbo slipped off his Ring and spoke.

"Sounds like it was a good joke," he said. "Shame I don't know enough Khuzdul to get it." He smiled at the shocked chorus of his name and offered them a small bow. "Yes, my dear dwarves, I've returned."

"And just where have you been all this time?!" Kíli demanded glaring at Bilbo through the bars of his cell. "We were worried about you!"

"Sorry to worry you," Bilbo offered the irate dwarf, "but I think the news I have will more than make up for my absence."

"Unless it's a way out, I'm afraid not, lad," Bofur said, offering the hobbit a glare of his own. "We're more than a bit miffed at you for disappearing for more than two days without even telling us to expect it."

"What if I told you that it wasn't a way out but something nearly as good," Bilbo teased, shock rising within him that he had been gone for two days and rethinking his decision not to go and lecture the elf king. Two days and all Thorin had gotten had been two meals?! That was unacceptable.

"I'd say you've gone mad," Dwalin replied sounding bored, though his eyes showed his interest in what Bilbo was offering. "I can't think of what you could have found that could even compare."

"Not even if I found you a king?" Bilbo replied cheekily.

"We have a king," Glóin sighed exasperatedly. "Fíli's our king we don't need a second."

"What if I told you you were premature in crowning Fíli?" Bilbo asked trying to lead them to his discovery on their own rather than tell them outright.

"Bilbo," Fíli sighed, "I'm not in the mood for games. Just tell us what you've found so that they'll stop pestering you, please." BIlbo nodded and walked over to Fíli's cell.

"Hold out your hand," Bilbo ordered. "I'll show you what I found." Fíli sighed but did as he was told and felt his brow furrow as he felt something heavy and metallic drop into his hand. Two heavy, metallic things. He opened his palm and saw not only his uncle's signet ring but also one of his hair clasps resting there.

"W-where did you get these?" Fíli breathed, his eyes going wide that Bilbo would have two such personal items, his Uncle's chosen mate or no. "When . . . when did he give these to you?"

"What's he got?" Kíli demanded trying to wiggle his way through the bars and see what Bilbo had handed his brother. "I can't see, Fíli. What is it?"

"Not an hour ago," Bilbo replied grinning from ear-to-ear at the shock on the young dwarf's face and choosing to ignore the questions of the youngest. He would get his answers in time and patience was a virtue that Kíli could stand to learn. It was clear that Thorin never had.

"So you found his body?" Fíli asked, his heart breaking though he was glad to know that Thorin hadn't been eaten by the spiders. Not that being held by elves was a much nobler final resting place but it was a bit better than being spider food.

"No," Bilbo replied firmly. "I found _him_. He's still alive, Fíli. They've got him in a cell on his own hallway. He's sick of being there, but he's alive." He chose not to mention the fact that Thorin had been chained. He didn't see _that_ bit of information helping morale. Though perhaps indignation for the plight of their king would see them through until he could free them.

"He's alive," Fíli sighed, a happy smile on his face for the first time in weeks that Bilbo had seen and his words coming so fast that Bilbo could barely follow them. "Is he well? Are they feeding him? They haven't . . . I mean . . ." Fíli's face clouded over once more as he tried to formulate the question that he truly did not want the answer to. "Have they . . ."

"He's as well as can be expected," Bilbo replied unwilling to lie to the blonde heir but also unwilling to tell him the true nature of his uncle's plight. He couldn't tell Fíli that Thorin suffered from both being chained and from the solitude. Fíli didn't need to know that. Thorin would be terribly embarrassed if he ever found out that the others knew of his breakdowns.

"He asked after you and Kíli," Bilbo said. "He worries for you both. And the rest of the company as well," he added glancing at the dwarves he could see leaning in as closely as they could to better hear what was being said.

"He would," Fíli said with a fond smile that quickly fell as he realized that Bilbo was hedging. "You didn't answer my other questions. Are they feeding him and has he been mistreated?"

"Fíli," Bilbo sighed shaking his head and trying to dissuade the dwarf from pressuring him into revealing what he did not want to tell them.

"Answer me, Bilbo," the young dwarf commanded. "He's my uncle. I _deserve_ to know." Bilbo shook his head but could see no way around it. Fíli was right. He did deserve to know, though Bilbo still felt that he should not reveal everything and had no intent to do so.

"They feed him," the hobbit said eventually. "He was refusing to eat when I found him which could be why they are feeding him so irregularly but, in all the time I was gone, he only received three meals. He does not appear to be suffering from malnutrition but . . . I worry for him. I don't know that he'll eat if I'm not there to force the issue. Says he'll only eat once you're all free. Called it an _incentive_. As if I needed one!" Fíli watched the hobbit before him become more agitated as he spoke and realized that if he did not derail this quickly he was going to be treated to a rant on the stubborn stupidity of dwarves in general and his uncle in particular. 

"So they feed him, irregularly but I'll wager he is still offered more than you get," Fíli cut in. "You're looking a bit worse for wear yourself. Tell me, are they mistreating him in addition to underfeeding him or just underfeeding him." He watched the pain that flickered in Bilbo's blue eyes and the way he flinched slightly and knew the answer before the hobbit spoke it. "How bad is it?" Fíli asked with dread and rage filling his veins that they would inflict harm on both his uncle and king.

"He . . . bad," Bilbo finally whispered, pressing his face between the bars and into the dwarf's ear his words for Fíli alone. "He's alone all the time. Doesn't even have a guard. The solitude . . . it hasn't been kind to him, Fíli. We need to get out of here sooner rather than later." Bilbo felt guilty telling Fíli that much but he could not bring himself to lie to the nephew of his lover, and he hadn't actually given away just how desperate and clingy Thorin had become.

"If he has no guard, then it should be easy for you to get him out. Even if it takes you ages to pick the lock no one will catch you," Fíli replied aloud, his blue eyes filled with hatred at the mistreatment of his uncle. "You could free him and bring him—" he cut himself off as Bilbo shook his head sadly, feeling his stomach sink once more as he wondered why his uncle couldn't just walk away if freed.

"He can walk, can't he?" Fíli asked in horror. "They didn't . . . break anything, did they?"

"Nothing like that, Fíli," Bilbo promised. "He hasn't been tortured. Not physically anyway. But you know your uncle, better than most here I'd wager. How do you think he responded to captivity?" Fíli grimaced at the thought as did many of their eavesdroppers. Thorin would not have taken kindly to being captured and tended to respond _violently_ when he felt he was in danger.

"What did they have to do to him to subdue him, lad?" Balin asked gravely, wondering just how many bones had been inadvertently (or intentionally) broken to keep Thorin under control.

"They . . . they," Bilbo's hesitancy only increased their certainty that Thorin was gravely injured. "They . . . they chained him. He's chained to the wall by his wrists like an animal." Their first reaction to the news was a collective sigh of relief. Thorin was mostly unharmed and nothing was broken. But right on its tale came rage that they would _dare_ to chain a dwarf, let alone the heir of Durin and their King.

"They did _what?!"_ Dwalin breathed, blind rage beginning to creep into his blood at the thought of Thorin chained: a blind rage that was shared by all.

"They chained him," Bilbo seethed. "He told me that he was originally in a cell like yours and that he  . . . well, I don't want to say _assaulted_ since I feel he was justified in doing so but he . . . attacked a few guards so they chained him."

"Is he alright?" Óin asked suddenly. "His hands still work? They're not cool to the touch? He can still feel them?"

"There's some chafing, a little blood around where the cuffs sit but his hands worked," Bilbo replied. Those that could see it wondered at the blush that covered Bilbo's face but said nothing about it. Surely those two weren't shameless enough to have done _that_ in the dungeons. Óin nodded, content with the answer just as Bilbo's head whipped around at the sound of soft footsteps on the stone and disappeared from view once more.

If the elves noticed the hatred in the gazes of the dwarves as they made their rounds, none of them mentioned it, though they did hope that it was not a sign of things to come.


	28. Freedom!

Over the next couple of weeks, Bilbo was careful to alternate his time between the two groups of imprisoned dwarves—spending much of it with Thorin in an attempt to keep his lover sane—and to continue to search for a way to free them. One day, he found himself following an elf rolling a barrel. It was such a strange sight that Bilbo decided that he would follow after the elf and see just what he was doing with it. As it turned out, the barrel was being taken to an underground dock of sorts where it was left with many more. He could have sworn that he heard the sound of running water though he could not see it. He barely avoided finding the river by falling into it as the elf pulled a lever in the wall and the floor under the barrels disappeared allowing them to fall into the river.

The fear of falling into the dark, churning water nearly paralyzed him and it was only the sound of the trapdoor closing once more that woke his senses enough for him to follow the elf back to the kitchens where he made a beeline for Thorin's cell, needing the comfort of talking to him even if he could not find a way in. He needn't have worried.

He had been correct when he assumed that the elves were feeding Thorin so infrequently because he was refusing to eat. Once the food began disappearing (thanks in part to Bilbo) meals began coming three times a day just as they did for the other dwarves. Luck was on his side and the door was already open when he arrived, the same elf from before in the cell with Thorin, though this time she did not speak to him at all as she changed his food. Thorin glared at it but made no move to eat. Without a word she left, locking the door behind her.

Bilbo waited a moment until he was certain she was gone before he spoke. "Are we back to this again?" he asked, causing Thorin to jump. He still hadn't gotten used to Bilbo speaking without him being able to see the hobbit.

"Haven't I asked you not to do that?" he snarled glaring at where he thought Bilbo's voice had come from—which in actuality was a good two feet to his left. "Why do you _insist_ on _startling_ me. You know how I dislike it. I'm beginning to dislike that Ring of yours, since it allows you to sneak up on me in such a fashion."

"I could do it without the Ring, Thorin," Bilbo replied. "It barely helps. I could sneak up on you without it. I can prove it to you later if you'd like."

"That would be unwise," the dwarf replied acidly. "I don't take well to being startled, Bilbo. I would hate to harm you by accident over a prank on your part."

"That would be most unfortunate," Bilbo replied nonchalantly as he slipped off the Ring. He knew in his heart that Thorin would never harm him, even unintentionally. "Now, tell me what you know of the geography here. I'm afraid all of my maps were restricted to the Shire and what I remember of Beorn's has begun to grow fuzzy."

"Bilbo, I do not wish to discuss geography today," Thorin replied exasperatedly. "I understand that you have an academic interest in it but I do not wish to discuss things that it is beginning to look as though I will never see. Can you understand that?"

"I can," Bilbo said gently. "However I'm afraid that I must insist. I may have found a way out. I . . . I don't . . . I don't know that I . . ." he paused and tried to calm the frantic beating of his heart before he looked into Thorin's blue eyes and said simply. "There's an underground river. The elves put what seemed to be empty barrels into a room and then dumped them into the river. I don't know why or where it goes but it _could_ be a way out. The barrels are more than big enough to hold a dwarf."

"A river?" Thorin said slowly. "It could be . . . they may be sending the barrels down the river to Lake Town. It . . . it could work. How far is it from the cells to this room?"

"Not far," Bilbo replied. "If I could get all of you free at the same time, we could easily get there."

"How are the barrels released into the river? Are they rolled in? If that's the case, I'm afraid that dwarves in barrels would be far too obvious. We're not exactly light, Bilbo," Thorin reminded him.

"They're not rolled," Bilbo said. "There's a wheel on the wall. When it's turned, the barrels drop into the . . . the water." It was the fear in Bilbo's eyes and the hesitancy in his voice that reminded Thorin just how much the hobbit feared water.

"What about you?" the dwarf king asked suddenly.

"What about me?" Bilbo asked.

"How do you intend to seal yourself into a barrel?" Thorin clarified. "I know that you cannot swim. Surely you don't intend to . . . what do you intend to do?"

"I don't know," Bilbo breathed. "I . . . I've been trying not to think about that actually. But if this is the only way . . . I'll think of something. But we'll have to time it well. I can't reach the wheel and even if I could I doubt I have the strength to turn it and if they notice you missing before the barrels are released they may check them."

"Could I reach it?" Thorin asked suddenly. Bilbo nodded.

"I think you could," Bilbo said. "And it seemed to spin fairly easily, I just ... I'm too short." Thorin was silent for a minute and then he nodded his head, having come to a decision.

"In that case, figure out a way to get the entire company free at the same time," Thorin said. "Talk to Nori. He has a particular skill set that will aid you now that we have an escape route."

"What good will that do, Thorin?" Bilbo demanded. "Even if I do get you all there and you open the trapdoor, I can't roll dwarf-filled barrels into the hole. As you said, dwarves aren't exactly light."

"You won't have to," Thorin replied. "I'll take care of that. _You_ will be in a barrel, floating safely down the river."

"Excuse me?" Bilbo asked incredulously.

"You heard me," Thorin replied. "I will seal you and the rest of the company inside barrels, open the trapdoor and follow you in the water."

"You very well will not!" Bilbo exclaimed. "If anything happens to you the others will blame me for suggesting this as an escape route. Dwalin'll skin me alive! Kíli might even help him! Your nephew has a decidedly violent streak, I've learned. No. Thorin, this is unacceptable!"

"And it is more acceptable for you to drown attempting to follow barrels downriver?" Thorin countered. "You can't swim, Bilbo. I can. It's only a river. It's not as if I'm doing something reckless."

"Because you would _never_ do anything reckless," Bilbo replied sarcastically. "Do the words 'white orc' ring a bell, Thorin?"

"This is by no means the same thing, Hobbit," Thorin snapped. "It's just a river. It does not have malice or an actual intent to kill me. And as I said, I am a rather good swimmer."

"Oh ho!" Bilbo scoffed. "I'm 'Hobbit' again, am I? Just because I disagree with you? I won't be getting in a barrel, Thorin. It's not going to happen."

"You will get in the barrel if I have to have Dwalin stuff you in it," Thorin threatened. "You have to follow my orders, remember. I may not actually be your king but I do have a contract on you."

"That wasn't in the contract, Thorin," Bilbo reminded him. "I crossed that out, remember?"

"Not our courtship contract, Bilbo, your company contract," the dwarf smirked feeling quite pleased with himself. "There was a clause there that you would follow orders. This is an order." Bilbo sputtered for a moment before he let out an angry huff.

"Was that clause in everyone's contracts?" he eventually asked.

"Of course!" Thorin replied. "It was a standard contract."

"Good," Bilbo said with a nod. "Do those orders apply posthumously?"

"I suppose," Thorin shrugged. "Why?"

"Order Dwalin and Kíli not to exact vengeance if you die and I'll let you do it," Bilbo countered.

"Get me out of this cell and I will make any orders you wish," Thorin replied. "I will order them to dance a hobbit wedding dance if it would please you."

"I think I will pass on that," Bilbo laughed, the mental image of _Dwalin_ dancing with Kíli causing him to nearly convulse. "I don't think my sanity could stand it. Just forbid them from killing me and we'll call it even." Thorin nodded and then their discussion moved on to more pleasant topics, like just what they planned to do to Fíli and Kíli to get revenge once they were all free once more.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin had been right; Nori was more than useful at planning a jailbreak now that they had an escape route. There was only one aspect they could not iron out: how to get the keys from the guards in the first place. Surprisingly, it was Bofur that provided the answer.

"Do you know where our packs are?" Bofur asked.

"In the guard room," Bilbo replied. "They don't seem to have been touched. Why?"

"I think I have a way of distracting the guards," he said. "Do you remember the weed the boys gave you and Thorin?"

"Of course," Bilbo scoffed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well . . . when Thorin was distracted I _may_ have nipped into their pack and taken a pouch-full or two of it. For later, you know," Bofur explained with a lopsided smile. "I think it might be the _perfect_ thing to distract a room full of guards. You can write elvish, can't you?"

"I can . . . " Bilbo said seeing where this was going and smirking. "So you want me to leave them a note telling them it's a present and have them smoke themselves into a stupor so we can escape."

"Aye, lad," Bofur replied. "That's exactly what I want." Bilbo only hoped that it would work.

**ooOO88OOoo**

In the end, he needn't have feared. The elves were _more_ than happy to take his "gift" and put it to good use. He wondered that they didn't think it odd that his grammar was atrocious but did not see where it was his place to question his good luck when it did happen. So, instead of questioning it, he sat back and tried to stifle his amusement as the stoic elves laughed themselves into oblivion or stared off into space with the most peaceful expressions on their faces before the drifted off to sleep. Smirking at Bofur's ingenuity, Bilbo stole the keys from the guards and made his way down to the dwarves' cells.

Deciding to get back at them for all of their humor at his expense over the course of the quest, he hid the keys. When he appeared, he schooled his features into the most morose expression he could manage and looked at his toes rather than meeting their eyes.

"It didn't work, did it?" Bofur sighed. "I should have known."

"I wouldn't say that," Bilbo responded smirking. "I do have the keys after all." Bilbo briefly debated who to free first before deciding that it did not truly matter and started at the nearest cell—Fíli's, who went directly to Kíli's cell and stuck his fingers through the bars to grasp his brother's hands as Bilbo went around the circle to Dwalin's. Bilbo flinched as he opened Kíli's cell, unsure whether the dwarf would be more in a mood to brain him or embrace him. It turned out that it was the latter.

The moment the door swung free, Kíli was out of his cell and throwing his arms around both Fíli and Bilbo with so much enthusiasm that Bilbo and Fíli bashed heads. His hug was more than crushing at his relief at being able to hug his loved ones once again.

"Kíli . . . can't breathe!" Bilbo managed to gasp out, reminding the young dwarf to loosen the pressure he was putting on the poor hobbit.

"Sorry, Bilbo," Kíli said sheepishly as he released the hobbit only to launch himself at his brother once more and burry his face in Fíli's neck. "I've missed you, Fíli," he whispered.

"Funny," Fíli replied with a smirk as he ruffled Kíli's hair—loving the fact that he could once more. "I'm more than sick of you. Nearly two months cooped up in a cell next to you . . . I think I need a bit of space." At Kíli's sharp intake of breath and more insistent clinging, Fíli shook his head. "It was a joke, Brother," he promised. "I've missed you too."

"I'm sorry to ask it," Bilbo said cutting into the quiet family reunions that were taking place all around the prison, "but I need you to get back in your cells. I'm not going to lock the door but what will we do if they make rounds while Nori and I go to get Thorin? You at least need to be in them." The dwarves grumbled but could not fault his logic. With many a disgruntled sigh, they walked back into their cells and closed the doors behind them.

"Just remember," Bilbo said. "You're not locked in. Don't attack the elves through the bars unless you think you can take them out silently and quickly. If they raise the alarm we are done for, understand?" They looked at him in shock that Bilbo wasn't saying 'don't attack the elves.' Instead he was saying 'if you're going to do it do it right.' Dwalin was especially pleased at the change that had come over their little hobbit. He hadn't know that Bilbo had it in him to seek revenge. _Now_ he thought he could see what Thorin saw in their burglar.

"Ready?" Bilbo asked Nori. "I . . . I think this is what you asked for," he said handing Nori a small box. The dwarf opened it and saw his lock picks. This was exactly what he had been looking for.  He nodded and Bilbo took a deep breath.

"How tender are your feet?" the hobbit asked suddenly.

"Not as tender as you might think," Nori replied slipping off his boots and putting them in his cell. "Thievery requires stealth and boots don't always provide it. I can go without." Bilbo nodded and led Nori out of the area where most of the dwarves had been housed. He didn't bother with his Ring. Nori was quite visible at any rate and it would do no good. He had to admit that he was quite impressed with just how stealthy the dwarf could be when he put his mind to it. Much better than the rest of them, not that  _that_ was saying much.

When they were nearly there, Bilbo stopped and turned to face Nori. "There's something you need to know before we get there," the hobbit said in a urgent whisper. "Thorin . . . the solitude wasn't particularly kind to him. He's sane but . . . well, he tends to be a bit . . . clingy. I just . . . I thought I would warn you." Nori nodded. He had suspected as much even if Bilbo had not said it. He had been kept in solitude before and never for nearly as long. Even after a short time his mind had begun to play tricks on him; he could only imagine what so much time alone had done to their king.

"I understand," he said when it was clear that Bilbo expected an answer. "The sooner we get him out, the sooner he's back to normal." Bilbo nodded and continued to lead the way. He stopped suddenly before a wooden door.

"Here," he whispered. With practiced ease, Nori knelt before the door and removed his tools. He smirked as he worked. Elves may know many things. Locks were not one of them. It was easy, too easy, to open the lock and allow the door to swing freely.  Even though Bilbo had warned him, his first sight of Thorin pained him. Never had he seen his king so disheveled and unkempt, nor had he ever seen panic in his eyes before. It was worse when the panic faded to hope before mistrust settled in the blue depths. Nori glared at Bilbo, his eyes saying 'you didn't tell me it was _this_ bad,' to which Bilbo offered him a small shrug and a sad smile.

"See, Thorin," Bilbo said as if he was talking to a skittish animal, "I brought Nori. Just like we talked about." Thorin's eyes flickered between the two of them as if trying to determine if they were both real. Nori now understood why Bilbo had been so insistent that Fíli and Kíli remain behind. They didn't need to see Thorin like this. It was only when Bilbo stroked his face that Thorin's expression calmed and he smiled.

"So it really is you?" he said softly. "I . . . I thought you were another hallucination."

"I'm real," Bilbo promised, knowing that it had been too long since he had come back. He could always tell when it had. Thorin was always so doubtful, so skittish if it had been too long but he rapidly came back to himself if Bilbo remained visible and maintained physical contact.

"And so is Nori," the hobbit promised. "Come on, Nori. We need to hurry." Nori nodded and approached his king, offering Thorin a sad smile.

"Hello, Thorin," Nori said. "Long time no see."

"Hello Nori," Thorin replied with a smile. "I never thought that I would be so glad to see you in my entire life. Think you can do something about this?" On the last word, he rattled the chains on his wrist, his smile changing to a wry smirk.

"I think I can," Nori laughed. "Never thought that I'd be using this particular skill _for_ you, Thorin. Though I've used it against you more than once."

"Free me and there is a full pardon with your name on it," Thorin promised. "We can arrange for your record to be lost in a fire. It will disappear forever."

"Dori will _love_ that," Nori laughed as the first lock clicked and Thorin's wrist was freed. He balled his hand into a fist and rotated it, enjoying his new freedom as Nori set to work on the second.

"Let me see," Bilbo whispered, taking Thorin's hand in both of his own and inspecting the wound. The flesh that had been revealed was bruised, broken and bleeding, especially where the edges of the manacle had sat.

"I'm afraid that this is going to scar," Bilbo said sadly, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of Thorin's wrist where the cruel iron had sat.

"I can cover it," Thorin replied, lifting his hand to stroke Bilbo's cheek and luxuriating in the feeling of not being weighed down by iron. "I'm just thankful to be free."

"We're not free just yet," Nori reminded them as the second manacle clicked open. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the thief said as Thorin went to rub his wrists. "Only makes it hurt worse. Trust me. Just leave them be. We need to get back to the others." Thorin nodded and rose to his feet only for Bilbo to stop him.

"Take off your boots," Bilbo ordered. "They make too much noise. You'll have to go barefooted." Rather than argue, Thorin did as he was told, removing his boots and buckling them together before tossing them over his shoulder and waiting for Bilbo to lead the way. Taking a deep breath, he led Thorin and Nori back through the passageways to the area where the remainder of the dwarves waited. The second they were in the room, Fíli and Kíli were out of their cells and nearly tackling their uncle.

Rather than protest their open display of affection, Thorin wrapped an arm around each of them and held them to him, one of his hands in each of their hair. "My boys," he was muttering. "My dear boys. I've missed you so. Are you well?" He tried to pull back to look at them to see for himself but neither of them was having it and only clung to him more tightly.

"You're not allowed to do that again," Kíli said pulling back to glare at his uncle. "You're not allowed to leave me!"

"I won't," Thorin promised, pulling his irate heir back against him. "I'm not going anywhere, Kíli."

"Good," Kíli muttered.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," Bilbo said placing a gentle hand on Thorin's shoulder and flinching at the hostile glare that Kíli sent his way, "but we need to move. If they catch us—"

"Bilbo's right," Thorin replied patting his nephew's firmly on the back to end their hug. "We need to move. Lead the way."

Bilbo felt like a fool, leading thirteen dwarves through the palace of the Elf King and expecting stealth. He didn't know why he'd bothered to have them remove their boots. It wasn't helping. These dwarves—with the exception of Nori—wouldn't know stealth if it walked up and bit them. With a sigh he decided to rely on speed rather than stealth and sped their pace. He only remembered that the rest of them weren't exactly privy to the details of the plan when they protested—far too loudly in his opinion—the fact that they had been led into a celler and asked to get into barrels.

"And just how do you intend to get us out this way?" Dwalin demanded.

"I only ask for a bit of trust," Bilbo replied. "Just get into a barrel. Thorin and I will seal you in and then we'll be free."

"Free to suffocate," Kíli muttered.

"I think we'll be more likely to drown, Brother," Fíli replied. "Don't you hear the water?"

"Is that the plan, laddie?" Balin asked incredulously. "Do you intend to put us in barrels and _float_ us downstream?!"

"I do," Bilbo replied. There was a general outcry at this and no amount of shushing from Bilbo could get them to quiet.

"Enough," Thorin snapped. "This is the only way out so you can either climb into barrels and either achieve freedom or death or go back to sit in your cells and wait for death there. Which prospect do you prefer?" Though there was still grumbling, the dwarves each made their way to a barrel that suited them and allowed Bilbo and Thorin to seal them in. Just as Bilbo was about to seal Kíli's barrel he remembered.

"Um, Thorin?" Bilbo called. The Dwarf King looked at him with a raised eyebrow and Bilbo jerked his head in Kíli's direction.

"Oh, Kíli," Thorin said simply. "If I die in this escape you are not to hold Bilbo responsible, do you understand me?" Kíli nodded though the expression on his face showed just how little he liked that Thorin was talking about dying. "That goes for you all," Thorin called. There were muffled agreements from the barrels. Satisfied, Bilbo sealed Kíli into his barrel hoping that this was not the last time he saw the young dwarf sulk.

Eventually, the time came for Bilbo to be sealed into a barrel himself. As Thorin lifted him into it, he suddenly realized just how small it was and just how bad an idea this actually was.

"Can't I just swim with you?" Bilbo asked desperately as Thorin lifted the lid and dropped his boots into the barrel with Bilbo so that he would not be encumbered by them in the water.

"Can you swim?" Thorin asked in reply.

"No," Bilbo muttered.

"Then there's your answer," Thorin said gently. "Trust me, Bilbo, I like this no more than you do. I do not like not being able to see you and my kin after being allowed their company again. This will only be for a short time and then we will be free. Now, let me get this over with, please." Bilbo nodded. He hadn't thought about how difficult this would be for Thorin. Swallowing down his own fears, he hunkered down in his barrel and allowed Thorin to secure the lid. The suffocating silence was worse and for the first time he truly thought about what Thorin had gone through alone in the dark. Then his barrel was falling and the only thought in his mind was fear. Then he was bobbing along in the current, feeling decidedly nauseous. He wasn't sure how long it lasted—too long at any rate—and then the bobbing stopped and he heard the sound of his barrel scraping sand. There were a few more panic filled moments where he could hear nothing over the sound of the rushing water and then—miraculously— his lid was removed and he saw the sun again.

The light hurt his dark-adjusted eyes, but he welcomed the pain. Because the pain was tied to the sun and the sun meant only one thing: they were free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1\. NO MORE MIRKWOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You have NO idea how happy I am to be done with that dreadful place (for this tale anyway :( but we're not there yet in the other so it'll be ok) I am probably FAR more sick of it than even you are. But I'm FREE NOW! (Bilbo wasn't the only one cheering for freedom as I wrote that)
> 
> 2\. this is a bit less happy of a note but, odds are I will not be getting a new chapter up next week as I have my final exam but the good news is that after that I have 3 weeks free that I can write all I want :) So we will try to get some more chapters sandbagged for once school starts again :)


	29. Baths all Around

Even before Bilbo's eyes had adjusted to the new brightness he was being pulled into a crushing hug. He couldn't see who was hugging him but he didn't need to. Whoever it was was soaking wet and that left only one dwarf: Thorin. Even though he couldn't smell Thorin's familiar scent, he knew that was who was holding him.

His certainty about the fact was shaken slightly when he felt two equally drenched dwarves crash into him from either side, increasing the force of the hug to nearly unbearable levels. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt a kiss pressed to the top of his head before Thorin spoke.

"Don't _ever_ do that to me again," the dwarf king's hoarse voice whispered in his ear.

"What? Let you put me in a barrel and float me down a river?" Bilbo asked genuinely curious as to what he had done that Thorin objected to. "I assure you I won't."

"Make us think you're dead!" Kíli corrected before Thorin had the chance to speak again.

"I didn't do anything of the sort," Bilbo protested attempting to turn to glare at the foolish young dwarf only to find the task beyond him confined as he was by the other two. "All I did was allow your fool of an uncle to seal me in a barrel—against _my_ wishes, I might add. I don't see how any of this is my fault."

"We couldn't find you," Fíli explained, steeping back to give the irate hobbit a bit of space, when it was clear that the other two were either unable or unwilling to explain. "We . . . the barrels containing _us_ were easy to see. We weighted them down quite a bit but you . . . every barrel we thought contained a hobbit . . . they were half-full of water, Bilbo . . . We. . . "

"I thought that I had forced you into a barrel against your will and trapped you to drown," Thorin breathed, his voice thick with tears that Bilbo wasn't sure if were falling.

"You didn't," Bilbo reassured him trying in vain to pull back and look at his lover only to have both Thorin and Kíli tighten their holds on him once more.

"I'm alive!" Bilbo croaked, "But I won't be if you don't let me breathe!" They both released him so quickly that it was only the hand that Fíli shot out to grasp his elbow that kept him on his feet.

"Insufferable dwarves the both of you!" Bilbo grumbled as he attempted to right his tattered clothing, the smile on his face revealing that it was a jest. There was an awkward silence for a moment as Thorin refused to look directly at Bilbo but kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye while Bilbo tried to wordlessly get Thorin's attention and Fíli and Kíli watched.

"Fíli, Kíli," Dwalin barked to get the youngsters' attention. "Come help me, lad. We need to arm up as best we can with what we have." Without another word, Thorin's nephews left with Dwalin to go into the light woods around them in search of things that could be modified into weapons as the only real weapon they had managed to salvage was Bilbo's little sword, the hobbit having been unable to locate where the elves were keeping the dwarves weapons. The rest of the company had also occupied themselves with various tasks, one of which was attempting to make fishing poles to catch dinner, and were subtely giving their King and his consort a bit of privacy.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said trying to move into Thorin's line of sight and placing a hand on the dwarf's cheek to try to hold his head still.

"I nearly killed you," Thorin breathed. "You could have drowned."

"But you didn't," Bilbo replied. "I didn't. And I would have had I not been in a barrel. I could feel just how rough the river was. I couldn't have swum in that. I can barely stay above water in a still pond. The river would have drowned me. You kept me alive."

"I lost you," Thorin whispered in a small voice.

"I was found again," Bilbo said brightly. "No harm done. I'm fine, see?" Thorin opened his eyes and looked at Bilbo for a moment before the hobbit found himself crushed once more to the dwarf's chest with the change that this time Thorin's lips were working against his own.

"Thorin!" Bilbo squeeked pulling away with a blush on his face. "They can see us!"

"It's not like I am mating with you," Thorin replied, his eyebrow quirking up and sounding more like himself. "It is simply a kiss, Master Hobbit. Though we can—"

"THORIN!" Bilbo shrieked cutting him off. "We very well will not! And I would appreciate it if you never make such a lewd suggestion again!"

"As you wish, Bilbo," Thorin laughed. "Just remember that the offer is always there."

"I will bear that in mind," Bilbo replied shrewdly. "However you need to remember that such an act would necesitate them seeing those marks that you said they shouldn't and I won't be invisible this time." Thorin let out a posessive growl at the thought and bent to claim Bilbo's mouth once more only to be stopped by the hobbit's hand.

"I'm sorry, Thorin," Bilbo said, "but no offence meant, you need a bath. And a comb." Thorin let out a wry laugh and grabbed one of the mats that had formed in his hair.

"It is a bit much, isn't it?" Thorin sighed. "Well, there's only one thing to do about it, I suppose." With that, he got the same glint in his blue eyes that Bilbo had only seen when they had been plotting pranks against Fíli and Kíli.

"No, Thorin," Bilbo said backing away with his hands out. "I don't know what you're planning but don't you dare do it!"

"You would issue orders to _me,_ Hobbit?" Thorin asked with a smirk as he advanced on Bilbo.

"Thorin, I mean it!" Bilbo snapped, his blue eyes darting as he tried to think of a way out of this. He thought that he might be more agile than the dwarf but knew from experience that Thorin was rather difficult to get around when he wanted to be. As he felt the stones under his feet he realized just what the dwarf had planned.

"No, no no no," Bilbo started chanting. "No, Thorin. I'm not going in the river. It's not happening."

"I am not the only one who could use a wash, Bilbo," Thorin replied before scooping Bilbo into his arms and beginning to walk to the edge of the water.

"Before you drown him," Dwalin called, having just returned with Fíli and Kíli and quite a few sturdy looking branches, "toss me his letter-opener. I need something to sharpen this lot with and it should work well enough for that." Thorin nodded and removed the sword from Bilbo's waist, scabbard and all, and tossed it to Dwalin.

"Thorin, please," Bilbo breathed.

"I won't let you drown, Bilbo," Thorin promised. "We'll stay in the shallows. Can you deny that you need a bath?"

"No," Bilbo countered. "However a cold wash down in a river is not a bath."

"It's the best that we have, my Burglar," Thorin said with a sad smile. "And let me assure you that anything will be better than the smell of unwashed hobbit."

"As if it compares to the smell of unwashed dwarf!" Bilbo snapped.

"And soon you will have to endure neither," Thorin said, a smug smile on his face that Bilbo had won the argument for him. "Now, strip down and into the river with you, unless you want to go in dressed as you are."

"Fine," Bilbo sighed. "Put me down." Thorin did, but he had caught the look in his lover's eyes and knew that Bilbo was not nearly as defeated as he had sounded. Just as Thorin had expected, the moment Bilbo's feet hit the ground, he was attempting to flee. With a laugh, Thorin caught him and scooped him up under one arm.

"I have nephews, Bilbo," Thorin said at Bilbo's stuttered protests at this new indignity. "They were experts at avoiding baths as children. One time they even managed to elude their mother once she had their clothes off and broke into my council meeting to avoid one. Speaking of: Fíli, Kili!" He waited until they raised their heads and looked at him.

"Come here, lads," Thorin called. " You need to bathe. I can smell you from here." They both grumbled but set aside the weapons they were working on and began walking towards their uncle, shucking wet clothing and hair clasps as they did.

"I don't need a bath," Kíli grumbled as he walked into the water bare as the day he was born with Fíli in the same state right on his heels. "I already went swimming."

"Then explain that dirt, Brother," Fíli smirked poking a spot on Kíli's bare chest. Kíli looked down in confusion. There was no dirt there, there was just a bit—

"Oh, my mistake," Fíli said rubbing the spot. "It's just a patchy bit of hair." At that Kíli tacked Fíli into the water causing Thorin to recoil to avoid the splash.

"Last chance, Bilbo," Thorin offered ignoring his brawling nephews. "Will you undress or are you going in fully clothed?"

Bilbo sighed before he said, "Let me take them off. Won't do to only have wet clothes, though they could use a bath as well."

"You're not going to run this time?" Thorin asked warily.

"No," Bilbo replied. "Let me down." Thorin did as he was told and Bilbo stood there with his eyes closed as he contemplated it before a wry smile crossed his face and he shed his jacket, hanging it on a bush before his fingers went for the buttons of his no-longer-white shirt. But he stopped just short of removing it and instead moved to remove his pants, hanging them over the bush as well before locking eyes with his lover and removing his shirt with a self-satisfied smirk and walking into the water.

Thorin watched him go, wondering just what _that_ had been about until his eyes caught on a green place marring Bilbo's right shoulder and realized just what Bilbo had been so pleased about. Here the hobbit was flaunting the mark Thorin had left on him just to bother the King. With a fond shake of his head, Thorin shucked his own clothing and joined his nephews and lover in the river.

Thorin was carefully washing the blood from his tender wrists when a voice from the shore startled him.

"How's the water, lads?" Bofur called stripping himself of his clothes as he spoke.

"Brisk," Fíli replied. "Best take it at a run if you intend to come all the way in." Bofur nodded and took Fíli's advice by moving with great haste into the water and diving in the moment it was knee-deep only to come up next to Thorin and Bilbo with a gasp.

"Brisk doesn't begin to cover it, lad!" he snapped splashing Fíli before beginning a hasty scrub down of his own. "This is downright frigid, this is!"

"I told you to take it at a run," Fíli said with an unconcerned shrug as he dipped his head under the water and tried to wash the grit out of it without soap. Bilbo had to laugh at just how much brighter his hair was when he came back up.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Kíli asked, his eyes alighting with mischief, thinking that the hobbit was reacting to Fíli's reaction to the cold and taking offence for his brother. "Let's see how well you deal with cold water over your head, shall we Brother?"

"Let's," Fíli agreed rounding on the hobbit with a predatory smirk on his face. Bilbo moved behind Thorin thinking that his lover would defend him from his nephews but Thorin just moved out of the way.

"You provoked them, Bilbo," Thorin said moving deeper into the water to wash his own hair. "They're _your_ problem now."

"Traitor!" Bilbo squeaked as he tried to swim away from the boys. He was putting in a good deal of effort but wasn't going anywhere fast.

"You really can't swim, can you?" Kíli asked, looking at him in speculation as Bilbo floundered in the shallow water.

"I said I can't, now you two just stay away!" Bilbo replied shortly.

"We can help," Fíli offered. "We can teach you. We won't push you under, we swear. Right, Kíli?" Kíli shook his head adamantly.

"It's no fun if you can't fight back," Kíli replied. "We won't push you under. Not until you can hold your own."

"All the same, I would prefer not to," Bilbo replied. Surprisingly, Fíli and Kíli nodded.

"If you change your mind," Fíli offered before going back out to the deeper water and leaving Bilbo to his own devices. With a final glance to make sure that there were no dwarves near him, Bilbo steeled himself and submerged himself in the cold water to try to wash out his hair. He jumped as he heard Thorin's voice beside him as he came back up.

"I don't know about you, but I think I am as clean as I am going to get," Thorin sighed as he picked up one of the mats yet again. "I'm afraid that there's nothing to do for these but to cut them out. It's not as if we have a comb."

"Actually, we do," Bilbo replied. "While I was digging Nori's lockpicks out of his pack I took the time to gather up all the combs. Figure you lot would like them. I know just how vain you dwarves are."

"Bilbo Baggins, you are a marvel," Thorin breathed.

"Now, mind, I don't know whose are whose and you will have to help me pass them back out but I'm sure one of the boys wouldn't mind if you used one of theirs," Bilbo qualified. "I couldn't find you things, I'm afraid."

"The boys will be more than happy to share a comb with their poor old uncle, right lads?" Thorin called.

"Of course, Uncle," Fíli and Kíli called in unison not even having heard what was asked.

"That was sneaky, Thorin," Bilbo smirked.

"You heard them agree to it," Thorin replied with a smirk of his own as he made his way out of the cold river, Bilbo right at his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid that this chapter was next to useless as far as advancing the plot but I figured that after all the angst of Mirkwood I owed you a bit of fluff. I hope that you enjoyed it! and would LOVE to hear what you thought.


	30. Plans, Songs and Nighttime Revelations

Some time later, Bilbo and Thorin were sitting by the fire drying their clothing on their bodies with Fíli, Kíli and Bofur while the rest of the company took their turn in the river or gathering food. Bilbo was still trying to work through the mats in Thorin's hair with Kíli's comb while Fíli was doing the same to Kíli with his own as Fíli's hair had stayed mat free due to his own diligence with his fingers during their imprisonment. It was a slow process and Bilbo was seriously rethinking Thorin's suggestion of cutting them out.

"So what's the plan now?" Bilbo asked quietly. "You told me that if I could get you out you would do the rest."

"We can make for Lake Town," Thorin said equally as quiet. "They might be willing to render us aid."

"How?" Fíli asked practically. "We have nothing to offer them in return. I have no money left on me. The elves took everything. Why would they help us?"

"Because they live under the shadow of the Mountain and the threat of Smaug, lad," Bofur added. "They want the wyrm dead nearly as badly as we do."

"Perhaps more," Thorin added with a nod. "They lost loved ones too. They have not only the present threat to their people but a vengeance claim as well."

"That was a hundred years ago, Uncle," Kíli added. "None of them remember that loss. Humans don't live very long."

"They live as long as my people," Bilbo replied. "And we remember things that happened hundreds of years ago. They still remember. Trust me on that." There was silence in the small group at the reminder that Bilbo would die well before they would. It was easy to forget sometimes that he only had fifty years left. Kíli found himself wondering if that was perhaps why his people did not make friends with those of other races. The thought of Bilbo dying . . . of watching his friend wither of old age while he remained young . . . it hurt. Fíli's hand shifted from holding his hair to petting it as if his brother was thinking along the same lines.

"So, Lake Town," Bilbo said, trying to break the tense atmosphere that he could feel. "That just means that it's next to the lake, right?"

"No, lad," Bofur said with a laugh. "It's a town build right on the surface of the lake from what I've heard tell. I've never seen it but that's what they say."

"It is," Thorin replied. "It's built on floats and sits on the surface of the lake. I've seen it."

"Wonderful," Bilbo muttered. "More water."

"It will be fine as long as you don't trip into it," Kíli replied as Fíli asked, "Starting to rethink our offer yet?"

"If I decide to let anyone teach me to swim it won't be the two of you," Bilbo replied haughtily, closing his eyes and raising his nose into the air to teasingly show his opinion of the suggestion. He was too busy taunting the two of them to dodge the pebble that Kíli lobbed his way and it hit his shoulder. Of course, Kíli looked the picture of innocence when Bilbo looked at him. He was about to launch into one of his epic rants when Thorin grabbed his wrists and pulled him flush against the dwarf king's back.

"Don't worry, Bilbo," Thorin whispered in his ear under the pretense of nuzzling his neck. "We'll see just how smug Kíli is once we're done with him." Bilbo smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to Thorin's cheek before standing and going back to work on the mats.

Fíli and Kíli hadn't been able to hear their uncle's words, but they did not like the speculative glances that Bilbo and Thorin were throwing at them. Not one bit.

**ooOO88OOoo**

By the time everyone had bathed and food had been scavenged, the sun was low in the sky. There was  a brief debate on the merits of traveling that day or remaining where they were an getting an early start in the morning. In the end, despite their desire to be on the road after being forced to remain in the same place for so long, they decided to make camp where they were and start down river at dawn.

So, rather than travel, they gathered around the fire that Glóin had been able to create and took comfort in the company of their friends and loved ones and the miracle of being free. Most of them were still a bit in shock. Like Thorin, they had resigned themselves to being trapped in the cells for the rest of their days. To be freely sitting beside a river next to their friends and kin . . . to them it was paradise. Even without instruments or real food or bedding, it was a merry company that sat around the fire that night exchanging stories and songs.

Even Bilbo sang, from his place against Thorin's chest with Fíli and Kíli on either side of them. It was warm, it was nice and despite the fact that none of them had anything to their names besides the clothing on their backs: it felt more like home than Bag End ever had since his parents had died. Before Bilbo knew it, he fell asleep where he was sitting, Thorin's deep voice reverberating through his chest as the dwarves sang into the night.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The hobbit awoke some hours later to an uncomfortably full feeling in his bladder. He was not confused in the least as to what had woken him and knew that there was no danger. Even so, he took a moment to gather his wits before he thought about getting up. The company had all bedded down in giant piles of close kin. He was still resting against Thorin's chest as the dwarf leaned against a tree and, if the snores were anything to go by, Fíli and Kíli were still on either side of the king, clinging to him like children. Bilbo smiled at the thought before deciding that nothing was amiss and it was safe to move.

Bilbo shifted his weight in preparation to get up but was stopped suddenly when Thorin's hand clamped down on his hip. The hold was firm and unyielding but also not hard enough to be painful. Bilbo turned his head to look at the dwarf and see just why Thorin had decided to protest his getting up only to see that Thorin was still asleep. Even so, his face held none of the smoothness that sleep usually gave it, rather, it was pinched and he occasionally twitched in the throes of his nightmare.

Bilbo sighed, hating to leave his mate when it was so clear that the dwarf was in distress but knowing that he _needed_ to leave unless they both wanted to wake up wet. He gently, but firmly reached down, grasping Thorin's fingers where they were digging into his hip and attempted to free himself, taking special care not to put pressure on Thorin's savaged wrist in the process—the sight of which still caused his blood to boil. It took a bit of effort, but eventually he managed to wiggle himself free.

The plaintive sound Thorin made as he grasped blindly for Bilbo nearly broke the hobbit's heart but he forced himself to walk out of camp, reasoning that the sooner he was gone the sooner he could return. He didn't go far and wasn't gone long, but all the same, when he had returned, Thorin was in a right state and had managed to wake his nephews, both of whom were staring that their uncle with wide eyes as Thorin cringed away from them and begged them to leave him in peace.

"Uncle . . . what?" Fíli asked softly as he reached for Thorin only for his uncle to twitch away urgently.

"You're not real," Throin muttered as he curled in on himself. "None of this is. The forest, the fire, the two of you. It . . . It's all in my head. All of it! Just go away and leave me be! The silence is better than _this_!"

"We're real, aren't we, Fíli?" Kíli asked reaching for his uncle only for Fíli to grab his wrist and stop him with a shake of his head.

"Don't, Kíli," Fíli whispered into his brother's ear. "Don't touch him. He's dreaming. He might hurt you without meaning to. Just leave him be. It's just a nightmare." Kíli nodded but looked unconvinced. His uncle sounded too awake for it to be a nightmare. Suddenly Bilbo's insistence that they stay upstairs while he and Nori went to fetch Thorin crossed his mind and he wondered if this wasn't a new thing. Instead of telling Fíli of his suspicions, Kíli sat there uncomfortably and watched as his uncle twitched and wept. The sight broke his heart.

"What happened?" Bilbo asked coming up behind the brothers and looking at Thorin over their shoulders.

"Don't know," Fíli muttered. "He started twitching and woke us up and when we pulled back to ask him what was wrong he . . . started . . . this. I don't know what happened." Bilbo sighed and nodded before walking around the princes.

"Thorin?" he called softly. "Can you hear me?"

"No," the dwarf replied. "I can't hear you because you're not here. You're not real. It's all in my head." Bilbo nodded sadly. He'd been afraid this wouldn't disappear once they were free, despite what Nori had said. Thorin had been far too clingy that day, even if he had been mostly normal. With a deep sigh he stepped forward only to be stopped by Fíli and Kíli's hands on his elbows.

"Don't," Fíli said.

"Mother told us to never wake him if he was having a nightmare," Kíli added. "Said we should just let him wake up on his own."

"This isn't a nightmare, lads," Bilbo said sadly. "Leastways not one he can wake himself from. Trust me. I know what I'm doing." They eyed him warily but released him all the same. They both tensed as Bilbo walked up to Thorin and knelt before him before raising his hand and reaching right between their uncle's upraised arms and placing it on the dwarf's face.

"Are you still so sure that I'm not real, Thorin?" Bilbo asked gently. "I assure you that I am. What do I need to do to convince you? Would a bit of blood do it?"

"I don't need to see your blood," Thorin replied. "Your touch is proof enough and you've been here before but what of those two," his nephews flinched at the look of hostility that he shot at them, "Fíli and Kíli are never really here."

"Where do you think you are, Thorin?" Bilbo asked softly dreading the answer.

"My cell," Thorin snapped as if Bilbo were the one being stupid. "Where else?" Bilbo glanced around quickly and realized that in the darkness of the moonless night he could almost see where Thorin had gotten that idea.

"You're not in your cell," Bilbo said. "You'll never be there again, I swear it. You're free. We all are. Come here, lads." He said turning to Fíli and Kíli and holding out the hand that wasn't on Thorin's face. They seemed reluctant but they did as they were told and knelt on either side of Bilbo.

"They're real, Thorin," Bilbo promised. "Touch them if you don't believe me. He can touch you, can't he Fíli?"

"Of-of course," Fíli replied doing his best not to look anxious as Thorin raised his hand cautiously, stopping at one point—where Fíli guessed his chains should have fettered him—before looking at his bare wrist in confusion and extending his hand the rest of the way to rest on Fíli's cheek. The blonde heir nuzzled his uncle's palm lightly and closed his eyes as he tried to pretend that this was like every other time his uncle had petted him and not a situation where Thorin was desperately clinging to reality.

 At the feeling of Fíli's warm cheek and soft beard beneath his finger something in Thorin broke and before he could convince himself that he shouldn't he had flung himself at Fíli and Bilbo, wrapping his arms around their necks and sobbing once more. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder and looked up to see Kíli sitting there with a sad smile on his face. His nephew yelped as Thorin grabbed his wrist and drug him into the pile.

"There," Bilbo managed to say from the middle of the mash of dwarves. "See, Thorin, we're all real. Now I think we should all get back to sleep. Dawn comes far too early after all." Thorin nodded and moved to go back to his spot but was stopped by Bilbo's hand on his arm.

"Let me sleep there," Bilbo said. "Might do you some good to actually have a lie-down.  I'm not as pudgy as I once was but I daresay my lap will still make a decent pillow, don't you think?" Again Thorin nodded and stretched out on the ground beside his hobbit, using Bilbo's thigh as a pillow. It was far from comfortable for Bilbo as Thorin's head was rather heavy but if it prevented a resurgence of this, then Bilbo welcomed it. It only took a moment of Bilbo running his fingers through Thorin's hair before his breathing evened out.

Fíli and Kíli watched in shock as their uncle allowed himself to be handled like a dwarfling before laying down in Bilbo's lap and having his hair petted like one. They'd never seen him behave this way. The moment he drifted off to sleep, Fíli turned to Bilbo demanding an explanation.

"What _was_ that?" Fíli demanded. Bilbo sighed and his expression got impossibly sad.

"Fíli," he finally breathed. "I didn't mean for you to see this."

"That's beside the point," the heir replied. "I have seen it and now I want to know what happened. He . . . he's never been like this. I've never even seen him _cry_ let alone _sob_. What happened?"

"I . . . I don't know how to explain it," Blibo said. "He was like this when I found him. Kept going on about me not being real, and seeing you and Kíli and Dís and . . . and Frerin? Who's Frerin?"

"His brother," Kíli answered sadly. "His _deceased_ brother." Fíli and Kíli exchanged a look at that. All their lives they had heard of the madness of Thrór. Had their Uncle gone mad? And if so what had caused it. Surely this couldn't be _gold_ madness.

"Oh," Bilbo said quietly, looking down at Thorin once more and stroking his hair absently as pity welled in his heart for his lover  having been tormented in the dark by hallucinations of his dead brother.

"What do you think caused it?" Fíli asked.

"I. . ." Bilbo began, trying to figure out how to tell them that elves had done it in a way that would keep them from storming Mirkwood righat that moment. He understood their need for revenge, it burnt in his own veins and he could only imagine what it would be like in dwarvish veins but now was not the time. Revenge could be had later, when they actually stood a chance of surviving the attempt.

"It was the solitude," Nori said, answering Fíli's question. "It . . . it does things to you. You . . . you begin to hear and see things. Things that ain't there. I know. I've been there before."

"But you're alright now," Kíli said desperately. "You don't see them anymore, do you?"

"No, lad," Nori replied. "I don't. But I was never alone in the dark for quite so long. And I don't know anyone who has been. Though I can't say that for sure. No one's ever quite sure how long they were left in solitude. I'm willing to bet Thorin has no idea how long we were there. Time stops mattering in the dark." Nori's face went a bit blank and Fíli couldn't help but feel that Nori wasn't as unscathed by his time alone as he was pretending to be.

"They didn't know, did they?" Kíli asked quietly as he picked up his uncle's hand and cradled it gently in one of his own while the other began petting the back of it almost desperately, as if his petting could wipe away everything that had happened. "They didn't know what they were doing to him, right? They couldn't have. Even elves wouldn't have been so cruel." In response both Bilbo and Nori snorted. Bilbo, because he had seen just how the elf guard reacted to the king, and Nori because he was a bit more cynical than the idealistic young heir.

"They knew, lad," Nori said bitterly. "It's a rather standard interrogation technique actually. That's why I know about it. Keep them alone a couple of days in the dark and see if they talk. Most will. They'll tell you anything to be free of it. The elves aren't the only ones to employ solitude to extract information. They knew exactly what they were doing and your uncle knew what they were trying to do. It's probably why he never told them. Didn't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing they broke him."

"Satisfaction or no, they did," Fíli said darkly from Bilbo's side. "He's still broken. And we . . . we don't know if he can be fixed. What if he can't? What if . . ." Fíli trailed off, his chest heaving and his face abnormally pale.

"Breathe, Fíli," Bilbo commanded taking the hand that wasn't stroking Thorin's hair and gripping the young dwarf's arm. "Just breathe. We can fix him. He always comes back to himself in a bit. All we have to do is make sure he's not alone in the dark. He was fine today, wasn't he? Almost entirely normal, right?" Fíli nodded, his blue eyes locked on Bilbo's as he let the hobbit's words soothe him.

"He only seems to have trouble at night," Bilbo said. "And only when it's still, quiet and dark. We can keep him company at that time and he'll be fine. Trust me." Fíli nodded before leaning his head sleepily on Bilbo's shoulder.

"Going to sleep there, are you?" Bilbo asked, surprised by just how little the thought bothered him. Fíli made a small noise in his throat before snuggling more tightly into the hobbit while Kíli lay down next to his uncle and squirmed into the circle of Thorin's arms before falling asleep himself. Bilbo smiled at his dwarves for a moment before he glanced up to see Nori watching him with a peculiar smirk on his face.

"What?" Bilbo asked quietly.

"Nothing," Nori said, his smile not fading. "It's just that I've been known to take some bets that I shouldn't have and even I would never have bet on this happening. When you joined us I never would have guessed that you would become the pillow of the entire remnant of the line of Durin. You are one strange creature, Bilbo Baggins."

"If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't have bet on it either," Bilbo replied. "Fíli and Kíli, maybe, but I figured that Thorin would be more likely to leave me strung to a tree or . . . well, you know how he was. I figured he'd rather kill me than ever willingly be sleeping next to me. I thought he hated me."

"So did I," Nori replied before slinking off into the darkness. "But I guess we were both wrong." Bilbo couldn't stop the smile on his face as the thought crossed his mind that he'd never been happier to be wrong in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all, a new chapter. By now you knew that it wasn't going to stay cute and light forever, right? I'd love to know what you thought!


	31. The Next Morning and Behaving Like Children

Thorin was the first to wake in the morning. It took him more than a moment to orient himself. He remembered going to sleep against the tree with Bilbo leaning on his chest and Fíli and Kíli at his sides. He couldn't recall laying down, or moving Kíli into his arms. As he tried to make sense of their change of position, a memory surfaced from the night before. He groaned as he realized that his nightmare had been no nightmare. He truly had relapsed and accused his nephews of being figments of his imagination.

He felt shame flood his veins at his own weakness. And not only had Bilbo seen it but so had Fíli and Kíli.

At his groan Kíli began to stir in his arms. He froze hoping that Kíli would drift back off to sleep and that perhaps he could delay seeing the disappointment in his nephew's brown eyes just a bit longer but, as it often does, his reaction had the opposite effect that he had hoped for. Rather than drifting back to sleep, his uncle's tension caused Kíli to wake fully.

"Uncle?" Kíli whispered. "Are you awake?" For half a moment, Thorin considered remaining quite but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when Kíli sounded so young and vulnerable.

"Aye," Thorin replied sadly.

"And you know that I'm real?" Kíli asked rolling over in his arms so that they were face-to-face. The sadness in his nephew's eyes nearly broke him. With a pained sigh that was almost a sob, Thorin crushed Kíli against his chest.

"Aye, Lad," Thorin breathed resting his cheek against Kíli's tousled hair, "I know that you are real. I am so sorry that you had to see that, Kíli. I . . . I'm trying . . . I had hoped . . . I'm sorry, lad."

"For what?" Kíli asked nuzzling his uncle. "For what the elves did to you? That's a silly reason to be sorry, Uncle. I . . . I don't blame _you_." The implication was clearly there as to who _exactly_ Kíli _did_ blame even if it was left unsaid.

"I should have been stronger," Thorin argued absently petting Kíli's hair. "I . . . I should be able to  . . . never mind, Kíli. I will do my best to ensure that you never see that again."

"We'll do what we can to prevent it as well, Uncle," Fíli's voice said, startling them both as they hadn't known that he was awake. Thorin turned his head slightly to see Fíli's blue eyes looking at him with a gentle determination and maturity that he hadn't had the last time Thorin had seen him. It simultaneously gave the king pride that his heir was showing such maturity and made the heart of an uncle within his breast ache at the loss of his innocent nephew. And then Fíli smiled and Thorin realized that the fun-loving dwarfling wasn't gone, only covered.

"Besides," Fíli said his smirk growing, "I saw the bruise you left on Bilbo. We _need_ the hobbit, Uncle. If we leave the two of you alone Mahal himself only knows what damage you might do." Thorin felt anger flood his veins that Fíli would imply that he would injure his own mate and was about to retort when Bilbo's high laugh interrupted him.

"Likely story, lad," Bilbo said reaching over to ruffle Fíli's hair, much to the young heir's displeasure as he then had to try to right his mussed braids. "You're more worried about your own hide if we're left alone to plan. What you don't realize is that you are far too late. Thorin and I had _months_ alone. You and Kíli are doomed."

"Is that so?" Kíli demanded, trying to wiggle out of Thorin's hold to glare at Bilbo. Thorin refused to release him, knowing exactly how Kíli tended to settle disputes and unsure if Bilbo would escape from such an scuffle unscathed. After a moment Kíli stilled with an exasperated huff and contented himself with glaring at Bilbo.

"It is," Bilbo said simply. "Prepare yourselves, lads. We've still yet to get even with you for the pipeweed incident, right Thorin?" Thorin shook his head fondly. Of course Bilbo would ruin the element of surprise, but with a grin he supposed that it would be all the more fun for them—and humiliating for the boys (who prided themselves on being the best pranksters in Ered Luin)—if they knew that it was coming and _still_ fell victim to it.

"You wouldn't, would you, Uncle?" Kíli asked, wiggling around to look at him with the same wide brown eyes that had gotten the lad out of many a sticky situation over the years.

"Prepare yourselves, lads," Thorin replied seriously. "You declared war and it is our turn for an attack."

Bilbo did laugh at the panic that filled both of the lads' faces at they exchanged a look at that. Little did he know that Fíli and Kíli were truly worried. They had heard of some of Thorin's more successful exploits—and some of his failures—and knew that they were most likely out of their leagues in this. And Bilbo . . . he was both cunning and sneaky. They were doomed.

"Do," Fíli paused to clear his throat as his voice had come out a bit squeaky before he continued, "Do we _have_ to wait for your attack or is this a fire-at-will prank war?" Thorin sat up, keeping Kíli against him for Bilbo's safety and exchanged a glance with his lover who shrugged.

"Fire-at-will," Thorin said. "We welcome the challenge. I only have one rule: draw no blood. This is a friendly war, after all." Fíli and Kíli nodded before Fíli stood and backed away from his uncle and Bilbo, Kíli squirming to be freed to follow his brother and Thorin allowing him to leave.

"You do know that you made this more difficult, don't you?" Thorin asked a wry smile on his face as he resettled himself against Bilbo, pulling the hobbit against his chest.

"Yes," Bilbo said. "But where's the fun in attacking them if they can't fight back?" Thorin laughed at the indirect quote from his nephews about wrestling Bilbo in the water the day before.

"You are a strange creature, my love," Thorin whispered pressing a kiss to Bilbo's curly hair. Bilbo just laughed, though mentally he asked himself why everyone seemed to be saying that lately.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Camp took no time to pack up that morning as there was truly nothing to pack. Within moments of everyone being awake, they were on the move, traveling in the same direction as the current. They had only walked a few hours when the river began to widen and the current to slow. Less than an hour later what they were walking along could no longer truly be called a river and had become a lake: Long Lake to be precise.

"You sure you don't want to learn to swim, lad?" Bofur called cuffing Bilbo on the shoulder when the hobbit stopped to stare at the vast expanse of water to his right, the far bank only in sight for him and Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo blinked at Bofur in shock, clearly having not heard him in his shock at the sheer _size_ of the lake.

"This would be as good a place as any," Ori offered quietly. "There is no current to speak of."

"And the bank is smooth and somewhat sandy," Dori added. "Not much in the way of brush or roots. Not that you truly need to consider that, do you? You've walked barefooted on things that I questioned walking over in shoes."

"Don't think we didn't hear your argument with Thorin, laddie," Balin added. "If you had known how to swim you never would have had to go into a barrel."

"And never would have been lost," Dwalin added, ignoring the glares that the heirs of Durin threw at him for his reminder that they had nearly lost the hobbit.

"Again," Glóin added with a glare at Dori.

"Are you _never_ going to let me live down dropping the hobbit when I was _tackled_ by a goblin? It's not _my_ fault he fell down that crevice."

"Damn fortunate that he did!" Nori added in his brother's defense. "If Dori hadn't lost Bilbo he never would have run into that creature and found the Ring and we'd still be rotting in the dungeons, wouldn't we? Dori losing Bilbo was the best thing that's happened to us so far. Not that I'm saying he shouldn't learn to swim, he should, I'm just saying that we shouldn't go blaming Dori when his negligence saved all of our skins."

"Thank you, Nori," Dori said with a sarcastic huff. Of course Nori would defend him and insult him at the same time. It hadn't been negligence, it had been an assault! What was he supposed to have done?

"Any time, Brother," Nori replied with a smirk.

"Smooth or no, won't change the temperature," Bombur added. "It was cold upriver, it'll be cold here."

"Maybe not," Fíli said. "There's less current and more chance for the sunlight to get at it. It _might_ be warmer."

"Will _you_ be the one to test it, Brother?" Kíli asked with a laugh."I can give you a good push if it'll help." Fíli opened his mouth to reply but was stopped at the sight of his uncle scooping Kíli up over his shoulder like a ragdoll and wading in up to his knees—despite Kíli's struggling protests and his own fully clothed state—and tossing his nephew into the water, clothes and all.

Kíli came up coughing and sputtering, attempting to glare at his uncle but looking more like a drowned puppy than an enraged prince. At his shocked and somewhat hurt expression Thorin couldn't help but laugh before offering him a hand up which Kíli took with a smirk. There was no warning at all before Kíli threw himself backward, dragging Thorin into the water with him

Bilbo shook his head fondly and exchanged an exasperated glance with Balin and Thorin came up, brushing his hair out of his eyes before tackling Kíli and forcing his nephew under the water once more.

"Fíli!" the brunette called just before his head went under, causing the elder to sigh and begin removing clothing that he would rather stayed dry—including his boots—before wading in and attempting to help his brother combat their uncle. Bilbo had to give Thorin credit, he was holding his own against the two of them fairly well, but that could have been because his slightly greater height gave him better mobility in the water, because he'd seen them fight and on dry land Fíli and Kíli were quicker than Thorin. Not that the King was slow, but his heirs were twin blurs, weaving seamlessly through one another.

"Best move back a bit, laddie," Balin said grasping Bilbo's elbow gently and leading him over to a log that had drifted ashore during some flood or another. "That is, if you want to stay dry. This will get messy before it's over."

"What—" Bilbo asked just as Kíli dove for Thorin and missed—his uncle laughing and pushing between his shoulder blades to ensure he went down before turning his attention back on Fíli—causing a veritable tidal wave of water to wash over Dwalin, who was getting a drink from the edge at the time. When the old warrior looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow, Kíli paled.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dwalin," he said backing towards Fíli once more. "I didn't mean to splash you. But it really was Uncle's fault, you see . . ."

"Sorry or not, I'm still wet, aren't I, laddie?" Dwalin asked, a predatory smirk on his face as he unlaced his boots and stalked into the water after the young heir. Kíli tried admirably to escape, however, he failed. Dwalin captured him and pinned his arms behind him before turning to the rest of the company.

"Anyone else have a grievance they'd like to settle with the princling while I have him contained?" he offered.

"I do," Fíli said with a smirk, walking to his brother with his hands outstretched.

"No," Kíli said shaking his head and redoubling his efforts to be free. "No, Fíli. Don't do it. I said no!" Bilbo's curiosity as to what Fíli had planned for his brother disappeared as Kíli began to laugh hysterically, continuing to beg around his laughter.

"He's ticklish?" Bilbo asked looking at Balin with a bemused expression on his face. Somehow he hadn't thought of grown dwarves being ticklish like hobbitlings.

"Aye," Balin agreed with a smirk. "Always has been."

"And Fíli?" Balin never had to answer that question as Thorin had snuck up behind his eldest nephew and stopped Fíli's torture of Kíli by subjecting him to the same.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked wondering if Balin might know, as he seemed to know everything there was to know about the dwarf king.

"Ah . . . that I don't know, laddie," Balin said with a smirk. "Thorin's quite a bit older than I am, after all. I never had the opportunity to learn if he was ticklish. The lads' mother might know but the rest of us . . . why don't you find out." Before Bilbo could reply, Dwalin had released Kíli to seek revenge on Fíli and Thorin had released the eldest to make it a fair fight. With a smirk on his face that Bilbo did not like at all, Thorin began walking towards him, as Fíli and Kíli snuck off to pull Bofur into the fight, who tried to hold on to Bombur and was dismayed when his brother walked with the princes into the water before dunking him himself, which, of course, set off a chain reaction of siblings attacking one another and what had been a private battle soon devolved into a giant all-way water fight, only Thorin, Balin and Bilbo being spared.

Though if the look on Thorin's face was anything to go by, Bilbo was about to be drug into it.

"No, Thorin," Bilbo said firmly. "I do _not_ like the water and I'm _not_ going in. Not while the lot of you are out there behaving like a mess of children. I'd prefer _not_ to drown if it's all the same to you." Thorin didn't protest but simply sat down beside the hobbit before wringing the water out of his hair quite purposefully on Bilbo's head.

"Can you blame them?" Thorin asked, ignoring Bilbo's glare and watching the commotion with a fond smile. Fíli and Kíli had tag-teamed Glóin and were doing quite well against him. And if they were a _bit_ more aggressive than they might should be . . . Thorin couldn't fault them for that either. Not after what their cousin had said in Mirkwood all those weeks ago.

"I suppose not," Bilbo sighed. "I'd wager that if I liked water better I would be right out there with them. Freedom is a heady thing, after all. Speaking of, let me look at those bandages on your wrists. It won't do you any good to keep those wounds wet. They'll fester."

"And what do you propose we redress them _with_ , Bilbo," Thorin asked with a bit of an edge to his voice. For a few brief moments, while he was playing with his nephews, he had managed to push the past few weeks from his mind and Bilbo . . . did the hobbit _have_ to bring it back up so soon?

"I still have a bit of shirt we can use," Bilbo offered. "If we take it from the back my jacket will still cover it and no one ever has to know." Thorin smiled softly at the memory of the last time the hobbit had sacrificed clothing to dress a wound of his. The others had noticed that time. In fact, they had figured it out well before either of them had. He wondered just how much gold Dwalin had won in his bet. Rather than voice any of this, Thorin simply nodded.

"Very well," he said presenting his wrists to his lover. "Do as you wish." He fought back a moan as Bilbo's eyes darkened with lust at the word choice and shook his head to clear it. "With my wounds," he clarified.

"Right," Bilbo said, visibly controlling himself once more and removing his jacket before turning around. "Tear a couple of bandages out," he ordered. The king chuckled quietly at being given orders but did as he was told and tore two strips from the bottom of Bilbo's shirt. Bilbo turned back and gently took Thorin's left hand in his own and began carefully unwinding the bandage with his right.

The skin had scabbed over over night and, in all honesty, looked worse than it had the day before. Bilbo sighed as he turned the hand, checking for puss or redness before shaking his head with a huff.

"They are healing well," Thorin said freeing his left hand to stroke along Bilbo's cheek. "These are not the worst wounds I have ever received, Bilbo. They are not even overly painful. I will live."

"I know," Bilbo replied, nuzzling the dwarf's hand. "Even so, I could kill him for this. Just walk right up to him and—" he cut off at a light smack to his cheek by the hand that had been stroking him only moments before.

"Stop," the dwarf commanded. "Bloodthirstiness does not become you, Bilbo. I have others more than willing to exact vengeance on my behalf, Fíli and Kíli come to mind. That is not what I need from you, my hobbit."

"Doesn't change the fact that I would," Bilbo replied. Thorin smiled sadly at him and shook his head but said no more on the matter. He wasn't sure how to tell Bilbo that hearing such a mild-mannered, innocent creature plotting cold-blooded murder for his sake did nothing to make him feel good. So rather than attempt to say what he knew he would fail to get right, he held his peace and allowed tried to make him forget the thirst for vengeance he had seen burning in Bilbo's blue eyes in favor of the tenderness that shone from them as he tended to Thorin's wounds. It _almost_ worked, but it refused to fade entirely and once more, Thorin had to wonder if there was more to Bilbo Baggins that met the eye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words cannot express how sorry I am for the delay on this. School went nuts at the exact same time that RL decided I needed a curveball or two. I've about got a handle on things once more and the next update should NOT take a month. *hangs head in shame* I do, however, hope that it was worth the wait


	32. Rethinking Things and Dismal Thoughts

Eventually the others finished playing in the water and after a bit of a dry off on the banks, they resumed the journey towards Lake Town. It seemed that the little pit stop had been just what the company needed. Even though their situation was no better now than it had been an hour before—they were still lacking equipment, weapons, food—morale had greatly improved with their rest stop. Songs and jokes abounded, even if Fíil and Kíli were still a bit skittish around their uncle and Bilbo—making sure that at least one of them had an eye on each of the others at all times. They knew that the moment they let one of them slip out of their sight, they would strike.

"Fíli?" Kíli asked suddenly after Bilbo had turned back to look at them with a smirk. The blonde looked away from his uncle to glance at his brother, surprised to see just how pale Kíli had become.

"Kíli?" he demanded, grasping his brother and searching for wounds. "What happened? What hurts?"

"We're doomed," Kíli breathed, closing his hands around Fíli's wrists while his eyes remained locked on Bilbo.  "We don't stand a chance."

"What are you talking about?" the elder snapped, frustrated that Kíli had stopped him from checking him over and refused to tell him what was wrong.  "If this is about the dragon . . . he _might_  be dead. We still have a chance."

"Not the dragon," Kíli replied. "Bilbo. We're doomed. Fíli, we . . . we _can't_ keep our eyes on him. Not if he doesn't want us to. He's got that Ring. We'll never even see him coming." Fíli gaped at his brother, wondering just how Kíli had come to that realization before he had. It wasn't that he thought that his brother was stupid, just that strategizing and planning ahead were more his department than his brother's. Kíli liked to act first and try to figure out a way out in the heat of the moment.

"We'll just have to do our best," Fíli replied, feeling the same horror that was in Kíli's voice.  "That's all we can do. Besides, it's Uncle we really have to watch. Bilbo's intelligent but . . . . Uncle . . . he'll be the brains behind any prank they pull and likely the executor of it. His sense of honor won't allow him to use such an unfair advantage. Not against us." It was clear from his tone that he didn't even believe what he was saying, but felt that he needed to say it all the same. It was equally clear that Kíli didn't believe him either.

So, while the rest of the company sang and laughed, Fíli and Kíli marched as dwarves being led to the gallows, trepidation and anxiety burning in their bellies as they waited for the first volley—as they had decided that attacking their uncle and burglar first would be a mistake. They only hoped that it would not be _too_ humiliating an experience.

It did not take long for the others to notice the brothers' melancholy, though none of them knew what the cause was. Ori began to walk faster in an attempt to bring himself alongside them but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He turned to see Nori looking at him seriously before his eyes flicked to the princes, sadness filling them before they moved back to Ori.

"Leave them be," Nori said softly, releasing Ori. "They may be sad but they have their reasons. Let them work through them. It's none of our business. Not really."

"It's not our business but you know why they're upset, don't you?" Ori asked. Nori nodded, not willing to lie to his brother. "But you won't tell me, will you?" Ori added.

"I won't," Nori replied. "As I said, it's not our business." Ori nodded, quite used to his brother's secrets. Besides, he didn't need Nori to tell him anything. He'd overheard what happened the night before and seen the wary looks Fíli and Kíli were shooting at Thorin. It didn't take a scholar to realize that they were worried about what had happened in the dark. Even so, Ori felt that Nori was wrong. Even if they didn't want to talk about _that_ , Fíli and Kíli could still use someone to talk to. With that in mind, he ignored his brother's advice and joined the brothers. Though they smiled at him and were more than happy to joke, he could still see the tension they both carried. Even so, the more time he spent with them, the wider and more natural their smiles grew. And if Kíli kept Ori between him and his uncle . . . well, that was none of his business.

Bofur, however, took a different route to trying to determine what had come between their resident royals. Unlike Ori, he had noticed that it wasn't just their uncle they were watching, it was the hobbit. And it was Bilbo that they were watching more closely than Thorin, to some extent. It also didn't hurt that he had overheard their conversation about the hobbit. He couldn't help but wonder what Bilbo had done to frighten the lads. He was actually rather amused at the prospect of two dwarven warriors being afraid of a hobbit. With that in mind, he moved up the company until he was abreast of Thorin and Bilbo.

"So," he drawled, careful to keep space between them after how Thorin had reacted the last time, "care to tell me why Thorin's lads are looking at you like you've grown scales and begun breathing fire?"

"Are they then?" Bilbo asked with a laugh and a glance over his shoulder at the dwarves in question an offering them a speculating smile.

"Indeed," Bofur replied, a smirk of his own in place. "I've never seen them cower like that from anyone before. Not even their ma. What did you do?"

"We've done nothing yet," Bilbo said, turning his smile on Thorin and earning himself a fond headshake. "Have we?"

"Is _this_ why you told them?" Thorin asked shaking his head again as he realized that his hobbit was far more devious than even he had guessed. "Did you want them to agonize over _when_ it would come?" Bilbo said nothing but shrugged with mischief alight in his eyes in response before turning back to Bofur.

"Yet?" Bofur asked. "In other words, you are _going_ to do something to them?"

"Perhaps," Bilbo replied cryptically. "We _may_ have declared war on them. Don't worry!" Bilbo added as Bofur's eyes widened. "We're not going to hurt them. Just a few harmless pranks. Nothing too big."

"A prank war?" Balin said, joining the conversation. "You and Thorin . . . against Fíli and Kíli . . . no offence, but have you all lost your minds!?"

"I don't know, Brother," Dwalin chimed in. "I think it might be beneficial for the lads. And entertaining for the rest of us. Those two . . . they think they can get away with anything. This might just help with their egos." Balin pointedly glared at Dwalin before purposefully lifting a white lock of his hair as if to say 'we've see what Thorin is capable of.'

"I think Fíli and Kíli might stand a chance," Bofur said. "No offence, Bilbo, Thorin, but those lads are legends. I think they will cause the two of you to surrender."

"We will see," Thorin said with a smirk. "I will only ask you this, Bofur; where do you think that Fíli and Kíli learned their skills?" Thorin had nothing more to say, but that didn't mean that no one else did. Wagers began flying about which team would win the battle—though they had nothing to gamble _with_ at this time.

"Do you see what you started?" Thorin whispered to Bilbo, his amusement clear in his tone. Bilbo shrugged, completely unconcerned by this newest development.

"They would have found out eventually," Bilbo whispered before raising his voice so it was loud enough for everyone to hear, examining his fingernails. "Tell me, what do you think Fíli would look like with dark hair?"

**ooOO88OOoo**

The sun was just setting as the dwarves and Bilbo grew close enough to make out the silhouette of Lake Town, but it was clear to them all that they would never make it there before dusk. With this in mind, they decided to brave another night in the wild. As they settled down to make camp, Fíli and Kíli positioned themselves back-to-back beside the fire, both of them scanning their surroundings.

The sight of the two of them caused Thorin to smile. He hadn't seen his nephews behave this way since they were tiny dwarflings that had snuck into the hall as he was receiving report on a skirmish with orcs. They had heard far too much detail for ones so young and had spent the next fortnight sitting back-to-back even in their own home. They even took to walking in the streets with their backs together and their arms linked. He did have to admit that he was a bit worried that he and Bilbo ranked as high as orcs did on their scale of dangerous things.

He wondered if it wouldn't be more humane to launch their first attack that evening and put the lads out of their misery. He changed his mind when he saw Kíli turn and grab one of Fíli's golden braids, Ori taking Kíli's watch, and undo it before rebraiding it. Just before he clasped it, Kíli's gaze locked with Thorin's, pleading in his brown eyes. His mind strayed back to what Bilbo had said earlier that afternoon and he realized that there were further rules that needed to be made before their attack could be launched.

"Bilbo? May I have a word?" he called pulling his hobbit out of the conversation he was having with Bombur and Óin about edible and medicinal plants. Bilbo offered them a shrug and a promise to return before he came and sat beside Thorin. The dwarf King paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted without angering the hobbit into making a scene. But it was unnecessary. His reluctance to speak did what he had feared hasty words would.

"What's the matter?" Bilbo asked, his tone laced with irritation. "Surely you aren't jealous of Bombur and Óin. Thorin, this is getting ridiculous! Am I not allowed to talk to _anyone_ that is not you or the lads?"

"That's not why I asked you to come here, Bilbo," the dwarf replied, shocked that that was where Bilbo's mind had gone. Just that afternoon, Bilbo had sat beside Balin and talked with Bofur and Thorin had had no issue with it. In fact, Thorin's jealousy have been greatly tempered by the fact that despite his dips into madness Bilbo continued to return. How could he doubt someone who was willing to stay through _that_?

"Oh," the hobbit replied, his cheeks flushing slightly at his unnecessary outburst. "Well then . . . what did you need?"

"I . . . I wanted to speak with you about this prank war with my nephews," Thorin said. "Or, more appropriately, rules for this prank war. Tell me, did you mean what you said about Fíli's hair?"

"Of course not!" Bilbo exclaimed. "I only said that to worry him. I would never dye his hair. He's not that deep a sleeper. Besides, I remember what you said in Mirkwood about where Fíli's blonde hair comes from. I would not take that legacy from him. Now, that's not to say that I wouldn't sneak over there and braid his and Kíli's hair together or weave flowers into his braids while he's asleep, and perhaps into Kíli's hair while I was at it. I think they would make quite the picture for the trip into Lake Town. Pretty little dwarven princes with braids of flowers. Don't you?"

"As much as that image amuses me," Thorin countered, "I'm afraid that I have to insist that you keep the flowers to just the company, and perhaps their mother. We need to make a good impression in Lake Town after all. The princes of the line of Durin walking into town sporting braids will be strange enough for the men. Adding _flowers_ . . . I'm afraid my line would lose all respectability. No, flowers are off the table for now."

"We don't have to let _them_ know that, do we?" Bilbo asked suddenly.

"Of course not!" Thorin replied. "As long as you and I are in agreement, they can still think that we might do it. We just never will."

**ooOO88OOoo**

Despite what Thorin had thought about beginning their war with his nephews that night, in the end it didn't happen. Even before darkness fully fell, Bilbo had come back to Thorin for another private talk. While it had been fun to plot with Thorin in the dark about the fun they could have at Fíli and Kíli's expense, the fun had gone out of it in light of how the lads were reacting. Bilbo was as much for fun and games as the next hobbit but this . . . as jumpy as Fíli and Kíli were, someone was likely to get hurt.

Fíli had been sent with him and Bombur to scout for edible foodstuffs. Every sound in the woods had Fíli glancing around as if waiting for an attack. While it was true that the dwarves were all still a bit on edge underneath their levity, fearing a search party from Mirkwood, this was a bit much in Bilbo's estimation. His belief was further solidified when they returned to camp and Fíli ruffled his brother's hair, as he had hundreds of times before, only for Kíli to grab his wrist and flip him over his shoulder before pinning him. Fíli laughed and Kíli offered him a sheepish apology in the form of telling his brother that he should have been able to counter the attack, but Bilbo could see the tension they both still carried as they once more sat themselves back-to-back.  

But what cemented it for him was a conversation that he overheard between Balin and Dwalin.

"You worry too much," Dwalin was saying. "It's just a bit of fun. We can't fault Thorin for wanting to blow off a bit of steam. Besides, Thorin won't harm a hair on their heads. He loves those lads. They will be fine. The most that will come of it is a bit of humility on their part and they could do with that, Brother."

"I'm not worried that he will hurt them," Balin argued.

"Do you think they'll hurt him or the burglar?" Dwalin asked, his tone showing his disbelief of that outcome. "They have more control than that!"

"Not directly, no," Balin agreed. "I think that all four of them will be careful in their pranks. What I fear is that they will all be too preoccupied with looking for pranks and traps laid by one another that they will overlook more pressing danger. I know that we are hoping for allies in Lake Town, but how will it look if the King and his mate and heirs are engaged in such a juvenile war in the middle of a quest?"

"It will look as though they are over-stressed and looking for a way to blow off steam," Dwalin replied stubbornly. "That is all this is, Balin. All of us could use such an outlet. This afternoon proved it if it accomplished nothing else."

"Exactly," Balin sighed shaking his head. "What if the others decide to follow Thorin's example, eh? What will become of the company if their private prank war spreads just as their water fight did this morning? Can you honestly say that if you are caught in the crossfire that you will not retaliate against both parties?" There was a brief pause before Balin laughed. "I thought as much. We need to convince Thorin that this is a bad idea, at least until the dragon has been defeated. Once Erebor is ours, they can wage their war on every level of the mountain, with as much spread and collateral damage as they would like but for now . . ."

"By 'we' you mean _me_ , don't you?" Dwalin asked, his smile clear in his voice.

"He _might_ listen to you," the elder offered. "You were his most frequent accomplice after all."

"He won't," Dwalin argued glancing at the hobbit, who he knew had head every word even if Bilbo was not looking at them. "He never did in the past. There's only one person here that _might_ be able to convince him."

"Bilbo won't do it," Balin said, seeing what his brother was up to and joining in the game. He hadn't originally intended to use the hobbit, but if Bilbo was willing to evesdrop, Balin was willing to use it to his own advantage. "He's more adamant about this that Thorin is. In the end it will be Thorin convincing Bilbo that the war needs to be postponed. No, Brother, you will have to try. And if you fail . . . well, we'll just have to do our best to keep an eye on them all."

Bilbo rose from his place by the fire, attempting to look as though he hadn't been eavesdropping and that he was just moving to sit beside Thorin because he could. So preoccupied was he with looking innocent that he failed to see the triumphant look that passed between the sons of Fundin.

Thorin was sitting alone at the edge of the group, turning his father's key over in his hands when Bilbo approached. The hobbit halfway expected the dwarf to look up before he was within arm's reach, but Bilbo was nearly close enough to feel the heat radiating from Thorin's skin and the dwarf had still not reacted to his presence. It was only when he reached out and gently stroked Thorin's cheek that the dwarf started, his blue eyes filled with accusation.

"I told you not to do that," Thorin snapped, visibly calming himself and putting his key back beneath his tunic. "What would you have done if I was armed?"

"And I told you I could sneak up on you without the Ring," Bilbo said with a small laugh. "I think this proves it." Thorin said nothing and Bilbo sighed as he realized that the dwarf truly was worried about what might have happened.

"Hey," Bilbo said sitting beside Thorin and threading his arm through the dwarf's before resting his head on his shoulder, "nothing happened. I'm fine."

"It could," Thorin sighed. "Bilbo . . . I could kill you. It would be an accident, but you would still be dead. And you don't seem to see the danger."

"You're right," the hobbit agreed. "I don't see you as a threat. However, if it will make you feel better, I will not sneak up on you in the future. Would it make you feel better if I was to wear a bell?" The last suggestion was entirely in jest, Bilbo would never consent to wear a bell but it still had the effect that he had wanted; Thorin gave a small laugh, his foul mood broken.

"It would," the King agreed. "When we retake Erebor I will personally make you one.  A little golden bell."

"About that," Bilbo said with a sigh, "we need to talk."

"Indeed?" Thorin asked, going for nonchalance, though Bilbo could feel the tension in him. Surely the hobbit was not about to tell him that he was not going to stay once Erebor was retaken.

"Yes," Bilbo said. "I think that until we have retaken your home we should focus on that. Eliminate distractions as it were. After all, we do need to prepare to face a dragon. As much fun as this promises to be . . ."

"What distractions, Bilbo?" Thorin asked, wondering if the hobbit was talking about carnal distractions, swimming stop-offs or something else entirely.

"This prank war with your nephews," Bilbo explained. "They're terrified. Of _us_ , Thorin. It's making them jumpy. It could be a danger to the entire company. Besides, would not our skills be better used planning attacks on Smaug than on Fíli and Kíli?"

Thorin thought about it a moment before he nodded. "I suppose that if these are to be our last days on this earth, I would rather not spend them at war with my nephews," he said eventually. Before Bilbo could say anything about there still being hope, Thorin had called the boys. There was distrust in both of their eyes as they answered their uncle's call, but they came all the same.

"What did you need, Uncle?" Fíli asked, subtly positioning himself in front of his brother.

"I wished to discuss our war," Thorin said, "or more appropriately, the suspension of our war until such a time as Erebor is once more in our control."

"Is . . . is this a trick?" Kíli asked hesitantly, his expression clearly showing that he was eager for the end of the war but also his reluctance to believe such a thing from the very people that had declared the war in the first place.

"No lad," Thorin promised. "It's not a trick. I will even put it in writing once we arrive in Lake Town if you will not take my word for it."

"That won't be necessary, Uncle," Fíli said quickly. "We will accept your word." That said, Fíli sat beside his uncle, close enough that their thighs were touching though it was clear that the young heir truly wanted to do more.

"I didn't want to be at war with you at the moment anyway," Fíli continued. "If . . ." He trailed off unable to finish the thought but he didn't need to; Thorin understood and shared it. With a sigh the King placed a hand on Fíli's shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze, his sad blue eyes making the promises that he could give no voice to. Not so close to the mountain and the memories of fire and death and the very real possibility of Smaug killing them all.

Fíli placed his hand over his uncle's, his shaky smile showing that he knew and understood what Thorin was unable to say and had accepted it himself. Their gaze was broken by Kíli leaning against Fíli and seeking comfort from his brother from the dark thoughts that had pervaded his brain. Fíli moved instinctively to position his brother so that Kíli's head rested on his shoulder and he could wrap that arm around Kíli's shoulders. Thorin sighed and moved so that Fíli was in the same position against him that Kíli was against his brother, the hand that was around his blonde heir stroking Kíli's dark hair.

Bilbo shifted with his lover, reaching across the King to grab Fíli's free hand and offer him a sad smile. Despite the threat of death that hung over them all and their lack of the comforts of home, Bilbo felt remarkably safe and warm.    


	33. Yet Another Dilemma With an Unpalatable Solution

That night, Thorin slept peacefully. Whether it was due to the sliver of moonlight or the warm weight of his nephews and hobbit against him, he wasn't certain, but that night no nightmares assailed him and when he awoke the next morning, he knew exactly where he was and what was happening. He could tell by Bilbo's warm smile that the hobbit was aware of how calm his sleep had been and felt a brief wave of regret wash through him that he wasn't strong enough to spare his lover that bit of worry.

After a meager breakfast, the company set out once more for Lake Town. Only the thought of food upon their arrival kept them from grumbling about the scant fare—that and the knowledge that even if they found game they lacked the means of bringing it down. So rather than grumble, they walked.

It was only when they reached the edge of the lake closest to the town that they realized the flaw in their plan. For all the assistance that Lake Town _might_ provide, they had no means of _getting_ there. Thorin and Balin—the only members of the company who had ever lived in Erebor—shared a look of mutual frustration. Both of them had anticipated that the ferry that had once brought trade to Long Lake from Erebor and Dale would still be in operation. They had failed to account for the fact that the ferry would have long since been discontinued as there was no trade to be had in the region since the coming of the dragon.

"So . . ." Bilbo began softly, "what's the plan? We've reached the lake, now how do we get to the town?"

"We could swim it," Dwalin offered with a shrug. "It's not so cold and the distance, while a fair one, is not too great." Bilbo's eyes went wide at the suggestion, but he was not the one to protest it.

"I'll not attempt it!" Óin said. "I've had more than enough of that frigid water to last me a lifetime. I'll not try to swim to a town, boots and all."

"Nor I," Dori agreed. "There are easier ways to seek death if that's what you've got in mind."

"Like a dragon?" Nori muttered. Even if he knew that that was what awaited them at the end of all of this, part of him had not believed that they would actually make it this far.

"It's only a swim, lads," Glóin said, ignoring Nori. "A child could do it."

"Not a hobbit," Bilbo countered. "I can't make that swim. However, you are more than welcome to try. If you succeed, send a boat. If it's not too much trouble. Or at least food. I'd be content to remain here if there was food." Bombur and Kíli noddded their agreement. Neither of them was too keen on the idea of being trapped in a village of men, though neither of them were opposed to food.

"I wouldn't mind staying either. However, if you do send food, send ale as well," Kíli said with a cheeky grin. "Can't have dinner without a drink."

"You will not  be remain here," Thorin said, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation as he tried to think of a solution to the problem. Dwalin's suggestion that they swim to town was a foolish one. They were hungry and weary; the water _was_ cold and would make the swim all the more difficult and from what he remembered of the town, it was built on piers above the level of the lake so that the town was not flooded if the River Running left its banks. While there _were_ means of getting to the town proper by means of ladders and floating docks it would no more do for them to come into the town looking like drowned rats than it would for Fíli and Kíli to have flowers in their braids. Additionally, there were sure to be archers. Men did not build a town in the middle of a lake for no reason and they were unlikely to just allow the dwarves to swim up to the platforms. No. Swimming was out of the question.

"No one will be swimming," he sighed, cutting off the argument that was taking place between those in favor of swimming and those opposed to it. "There must be another way." He felt a flash of irritation as Dwalin muttered something under his breath. Thorin didn't hear all of it, but he distinctly heard the word "hobbit" in the rant. Despite his restful night, his temper was still a bit short from their recent ordeal and he found himself unable to let it go. He would allow no one, even Dwalin, to think that he was making decisions that were not best for the company simply for Bilbo's sake.

"Did you say something, Dwalin?" Thorin asked, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously as he gave the warrior a chance to recant his statement. "I'm afraid that I didn't hear it. I would love to hear another suggestion." Rather than take the out, Dwalin rose to the challenge, meeting Thorin aggression for aggression.

"I said that you might not be so opposed to taking a swim if it wasn't for the hobbit," Dwalin said simply, meeting Thorin's gaze with his own. "If memory serves, you are quite the swimmer yourself and have already shown that you aren't opposed to a dip in frigid water if it's for the good of us all."

"The reason I am opposed to swimming has little to do with Bilbo," the King replied coolly, ignoring the allusion to his swim with the barrels to escape Mirkwood. "He is merely one of many factors in my decision. Those factors, however, are none of your concern. I have decided that is _not_ what we will be doing. Now, I welcome any other suggestion as to how we get to the town that does not involve us entering the water." Dwalin said nothing, but his gaze did not waver from Thorin's as the two warriors each continued to attempt to stare the other down. The company was beginning to shift uncomfortable from the tense atmosphere when it was thankfully broken by an unexpected source.

"What's this then?" an unfamiliar voice asked. As one, the company turned to see a man standing a few yards away, a bow and game slung across his back.

"What are a mess of dwarves doing standing on the shore?" he asked again. Thorin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, composing himself from his argument with Dwalin before he spoke.

"We are the dwarves of Erebor," he said, his voice level and showing no signs of his agitation only moments before. "I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thrór. And this is my company. We seek passage to Lake Town to treat with the Master. Can you provide us this passage?"

The man glanced at them suspiciously. Though he had not been alive when dwarves occupied the mountain, he knew of the names of Thrain and Thror. He had heard stories of their wealth and greatness. As he eyed the disheveled, travel weary creatures before him, there was a disconnect that he could not make fit. There was no way that _they_ were the dwarves of Erebor. There was especially no way that the one who called himself Thorin could be the King Under the Mountain. At best he was an imposter, at worst . . . well the bandages on his wrists indicated some time spent in chains. Perhaps he was an escaped convict looking to loot the town of what little it had. In fact, none of them looked grand enough to be the dwarves of legend.

"I'm not sure that I can be of help to you," the man said cautiously. He didn't want to be the one responsible for bringing thieves into the town. The price for such a thing was more than he was willing to pay.

"We ask only for passage into your town," Thorin said simply in a calm tone, almost as if he were talking to a skittish animal rather than a man that towered over him. "I swear to you that we mean you and your people no harm. I merely wish to speak with your leader."

 The man continued to eye the group warily for a moment before he nodded once. The dwarf's words had sounded sincere. There was no lie in his eyes. But he would not consent to bring them all. A few dwarves, if his words proved false, could easily be dealt with but fourteen . . . that might present more of a challenge for the small guard force of Esgaroth.

"I'll take some of you to town," the man said slowly. "However, not all of you." Before Thorin could protest the company being separated, the man continued, "I cannot get all of you into my boat. Not and bring the meat as well. I can take three, four at the most at this time. If the Master agrees once he's heard what you have to say, more boats can come for the rest of you."  Bilbo watched as various emotions flickered behind Thorin's eyes before the King nodded. He knew that Thorin didn't like the idea of dividing the company, not so soon after Mirkwood, but he also knew that they all knew this was the best offer they were going to get.

"I will come with you," Thorin agreed. "Bilbo, you will come as well." Thorin turned and surveyed the rest of the company for a moment as he attempted to decide who to bring. When his eyes rested a moment too long on his heirs, Fíli stepped forward only for Thorin to shake his head.

"Not  you, Fíli," he said before slipping into Khuzdul for an explanation when he saw the hurt in his nephew's eyes at being rejected. " _This may be a trap. I have to go, but if they are in league with Mirkwood, someone must stay behind to lead the company._ " Fíli nodded his understanding, though it was clear that he did not like it any more even for the explanation. With his nod, Thorin moved on.

"Ori," he said, causing the scribe to jump, "You will make the third and Dwalin, the fourth." He thought a moment longer about his choice before nodding in satisfaction. It would have been too threatening to choose four warriors to go, even if he hated to take his hobbit into what was most likely a trap. With Ori and Bilbo coming they would appear less dangerous, though he and Dwalin—and Ori and Bilbo in a pinch—were more than capable of taking care of themselves.

Seeing that the dwarf had made his decision, the man turned and began walking down the bank to where he had moored his boat, knowing that they would either follow or not.

It was only a short walk to his boat, but it felt like an eternity and a second at the same time to Bilbo. Not only was the hobbit dreading being in a boat once more, he was confused as to why Fíli and Kíli were not with them and as much as he wanted to ask, Thorin's spat with Dwalin had shaken him. He had never seen the two of them so much a squabble and they had seemed prepared to come to blows. While Thorin seemed calm enough, there was still a tension to him that spoke of agitation simmering just under the surface.

It was that agitation, and a wish not to come between him and Dwalin once more, that caused Bilbo to try to force himself into the boat despite the cold sweat that broke out along his back at the sight of it. He clinched his fists to try to stop his hands from shaking and bit his lip to keep from whimpering, but that only made his breathing more prominent in his own ears and he knew that the others could hear it as well. When they actually reached the boat, he closed his eyes and tried to will himself to take the final steps into the shallow water and into the craft. To his great shame, he was unable to bring himself to approach the boat even after the sound of water sloshing told him that the others were already aboard.

He flinched when he felt a large hand  take his own and opened his eyes to see Thorin looking at him with worry clear in his blue eyes. Bilbo knew that he had to be quite a sight, with how pale his skin surely was coupled with the sweat he could still feel running down his back.

"I . . . I'm very sorry," he whispered, looking away from the king. "I just . . . I can't do this, Thorin. I . . . I _can't_ get in that boat. I'm sorry for holding all of you up and I will run back to camp and send one of the others. I just . . . I can't."

Before Thorin could respond, another large hand came down on Bilbo's shoulder and he turned to see Dwalin looking at him with a surprisingly gentle expression.

"You can," the dwarf said simply. "Now, get in the boat, lad.'

"I . . . I" Bilbo tried to protest but Dwalin would hear none of it. Even so, his tone was still kind, even if it was firm.

"You're afraid because you can't swim," he said slowly. "I understand and respect that _but_ you can't let it control you. Face it head-on. Get in the boat. Go on now." Despite himself, Bilbo nodded and found his feet moving into the shallows and himself scrambling over the side of the boat, completely missing the dumbfounded look that both Ori and Thorin were sending the gruff warrior.

It was only once Bilbo was seated next to his lover that he realized what Dwalin had done. With a laugh, he looked incredulously at the tattooed warrior. He was too amused by what had just happened to feel properly indignant at Dwalin's treatment of him.

"What's so funny, laddie?" Dwalin asked, his voice and expression back to their normal gruffness.

"Nothing," Bilbo replied shaking his head to clear it of the ridiculous notion. But he was unable to. Every time he looked at Dwalin, sitting there with his arms crossed and being his usual intimidating self, he couldn't help but imagine him holding a babe and babbling to it as all parents are wont to do. Maybe he'd even done it to Fíli and Kíli. They were his baby cousins after all. For some reason, his mind then substituted a baby Kíli for an adult Kíli, still sitting in Dwalin's lap and being babbled at while the young dwarf scowled up at the older warrior. At that image, he couldn't help the laugh that burst from his lips.

When his eyes cleared of the tears brought on by his laugher, he saw that everyone else in the boat was looking at him as though he had gone mad.

"Sorry," he said, hiding a smirk behind his hand and refusing to look at the large dwarf sitting across from him. "I'm fine. I swear. Won't happen again."

"Care to tell me just what about me you suddenly find so amusing, Hobbit?" Dwalin growled, though there was a small smile hidden under his beard. He felt fairly certain that he knew what Bilbo was thinking as the thought had crossed his mind as well when he had been convincing the hobbit to get into the boat. He wasn't sure why he had resorted to the same tactic that he used on children to do it. Nevermind the fact that the creature was actually young enough to be a child—and small enough for that matter—it still did not make sense.

"Nothing," Bilbo repeated before continuing with a huff as he noticed the disbelieving looks being shot his way. "Well . . . it's rather silly, I'm afraid. It's just that . . . do you have children?"

"Aye," the dwarf replied. "What of it?"

"It's just . . . there for a moment I almost felt that you . . . well, i-it's ridiculous, of course, but, well, it almost felt as though you were _handling_ me like you would a . . . a child and the idea of _you_ with-with children . . . well, you do have to admit that it's rather amusing. I mean . . . look at you!" Bilbo said before cutting himself off at the realization that what he had said was incredibly rude.

"What about me, Hobbit?" Dwalin asked, forcing himself to sound menacing when all he wanted was to laugh at just how flustered their burglar had become. It had been some time since he heard Bilbo ramble and stutter.

"Nothing," Bilbo said quickly. "It's just that you're so _big_! I can't see you holding a babe. And the thought of you cooing at one" Bilbo began to laugh again. "Surely you see what I'm talking about."

"Not, of course, that you would ever coo at a babe," Bilbo amended quickly as he saw Dwalin's raised eyebrow.

"Don't let him fool you, Bilbo," Thorin said, joining the conversation. "Dwalin _does_ coo at babes."

"And you don't?" Dwalin demanded, feeling the need to defend himself when it was clear that hobbit males did not regularly coo at their offspring, though the thought of a parent or relative—regardless of gender—unwilling to dote on a something as precious as a child confused and troubled him.

"I made no such claim," Thorin said calmly not embarrassed in the least about the attention he had given his nephews when they were children.

"There's nothing wrong with cooing at babes," Bilbo said, feeling the tension radiating off Dwalin and wanting to alleviate it as it was once more his fault. "I just . . . I can't imagine it, really. Until today I hadn't even really thought of you around children. I just . . . I didn't figure you for the family type. I didn't mean any offence."

"None taken," the warrior assured the contrite hobbit. "Just remember that I am not above using every skill that I possess to see this quest done. Even if that means doing it again to convince you to do your job."

"You mean to say that you'd—" Bilbo cut himself off, unable to put what Dwalin had done into words in case the warrior saw his own behavior differently. He'd already put his foot into his mouth more than enough times for one day.

"Behave like a dwarfling by trying to run from your fears and I will not hesitate to treat you like one," Dwalin said with a knowing smirk before turning to Thorin. "Though perhaps the hobbit is already accustomed to being treated like a misbehaving child?" Bilbo was scandalized as he realized what Dwalin was insinuating, but Thorin merely laughed.

"What happens between Mr. Baggins and myself is, again, none of your concern, Dwalin," Thorin said, a small smile in place. At that, Dwalin gave a sharp bark of a laugh before silence fell once more.

In the silence, Bilbo could clearly hear the sound of the water sloshing against the hull of the boat. Unconsciously he scooted towards Thorin, pressing against his familiar warmth and using it to try to keep from panicking in light of their present situation. He didn't protest when Thorin's hand came up and pressed his head into the dwarf's chest. Bilbo tried to focus on the steady sound of Thorin's heart and forget about the water surrounding them.  It comforted him and he felt himself relaxing once more, despite Dwalin's whisper to Ori about being right about Thorin coddling him like a child.

 


	34. Meeting the Master

Mercifully, the ride was a shorter one that Bilbo had feared it would be. However, it was also further from the shore than Dwalin had believed it to be and—even thought he would never admit it—he was a bit glad that Thorin had vetoed the swim. It might have been a bit much even for him.

As they climbed unto one of the floating docks, Bilbo sincerely hoped that the town itself was more stable or that their visit would be an absurdly short one. No matter how much he longed for a warm bath and hot meal, if the entire town swayed like that little dock there was no way that he would enjoy it. He was pleased when he reached the top of the rope ladder to find that it was indeed more stable.

"Come on then," the man said with a sigh. "I have to deliver this meat and then I will deliver you lot to the Master." Though Thorin felt his temper prickle at being referred to as though he were little more than a package to be delivered, he nodded, only the slight tension in his jaw revealing his displeasure with the situation.

As they followed the man through the town, they could feel the eyes of various citizens on them. The feeling was an uncomfortable one for Bilbo and he felt himself moving even closer to both Thorin and Dwalin as he fought his natural urge to hide from so many of the Big Folk.

"Peace, Bilbo," Thorin whispered in his ear. "They mean no harm. They're merely curious." Bilbo nodded but that didn't mean that he could calm himself entirely. Especially when some of the _children_ that were sneaking peeks at them from behind their mother's skirts were larger than he. Despite his concerns, none of the townspeople approached the small group as they made their way first to the butcher and then to an ornate building. Without pausing to give the dwarves or Bilbo time to straighten their clothing or hair, the man walked into the building, his posture making it clear that he had every intention for them to follow him.

And follow him they did. Even though Bilbo couldn't help but think that they cut a less than impressive figure. He was certain that had the dwarves shown up on his own doorstep looking as dirty, road-worn and disheveled as they did now there was no way they would have gotten through the door save for beating it down with a battering ram.

"Stand tall, Bilbo," Thorin whispered gently as they were led down a hall. "We are not here to beg, there is no need to cower." Bilbo tried to do as he had been told, but in the back of his mind—and on the tip of his tongue—was the question of just what _exactly_ Thorin thought they were doing if it wasn't begging. It wasn't as if they had trade to offer, or . . . well, _anything_ really. Bilbo had a few coins in his pocket—which the company was more than welcome to—but there was no way that he had enough to reoutfit the expedition. To by them a meal perhaps, but not enough to save the quest. No, despite what Thorin seemed to believe, they _were_ beggars at the door.  Before he could tell his lover of his newest thoughts, the man stopped and knocked on a door that would easily have allowed all of the company that was present to enter together.

"Enter," a frustrated voice called from the other side. Bilbo was caught by the very distinct urge to come back later. The man inside was clearly not too keen on being interrupted at whatever it was that he was doing. Thorin however, grasped the handle and opened it as if he owned the place. Bilbo was forcefully reminded once more of the way the dwarf king had walked into his own home and hoped for all of their sakes that Thorin showed a bit more courtesy to the Master  of this town than he had to the Master of Bag End. 

Inside the room, there was a finely dressed, rather portly man seated at a desk that was nearly invisible underneath the papers there. He clearly believed himself to be an important man, as he didn't even bother to look of from what he was doing before he spoke.

"What do you want?" the man sighed. Again, Bilbo was struck by the idea that they should, perhaps, come back at a better time. That was if they wanted the man to be more amenable to helping them out.

"I seek an audience with the Master of Lake Town," Thorin said, clearly undeterred by the man's apparent reluctance, his face impassive and cold in a way that Bilbo hadn't seen it in quite some time. It was then that Bilbo realized _exactly_ what Balin had meant all those nights ago. Even in dirty, threadbare cloth, Thorin looked like a king. He had the sudden thought that even if Thorin were standing there bare as the day he was born, he would _still_ appear more kingly than the corpulent creature behind the desk despite all the Master's fine clothes.

"Clearly," the man replied still refusing to look up.  "You have it. Now state your business or get out." Even bilbo bristled at the tone and he hated to think how Thorin was going to react to it. While he loved that dwarf dearly, he did have to admit that Thorin had a bit of a temper. Especially at slights against him. So he was surprised when Thorin merely nodded.

"Very well," the dwarf said. " I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, rightful King Under the Mountain. I come to rid my kingdom of the menace of the dragon Smaug. I ask for Esgaroth's aid in this matter. I assure you that we will _all_ benefit from the removal of the dragon." 

At that, the Master did look up, Thorin finally having become more interesting than whatever it was that he was reading. He had to admit that he was a bit disappointed at his first sight of the self-proclaimed King Under the Mountain. The dwarf was standing before him in clothing that had clearly seen better days with two other dwarves and what he assumed was a dwarf child. A shoeless dwarf child.

"You intend to reclaim the mountain from the dragon," the Master said, his tone showing his incredulity.

"I do," Thorin confirmed, only the slight twitch of his fingers showing his agitation.

"And how do you propose to do this, Thorin?" the man asked, shrewdly. "How do you plan to do what an army of dwarves and men failed to do over a hundred years ago?"

"My company and I will take care of that," Thorin replied, anger beginning to color his words at this man's obvious condescension.

"The company I see before me?"  he scoffed. "Three full grow dwarves and a child against a dragon?"

"We number more than three," Thorin countered. "There are thirteen of us and Master Baggins, who I assure you is no child."

"Thirteen!" the Master, laughed. "Are you mad? There is no way that thirteen dwarves and . . . if he's no child then what is he?"

"Perhaps stealth will succeed were numbers failed," Thorin said simply, his tone making it clear that he thought the Master was missing something simple. "And Master Baggins is a hobbit."

"Perhaps," the Master said standing and coming around the desk to look more closely at this oddity that the dwarf called a hobbit. He had never heard of such a thing before. Up close, the being was stranger than he'd been from afar. Barely the size of a young child, with pointed ears, bare feet and clothing that spoke of wealth before it had seen the road. There was no way he would be of any use against the dragon save as perhaps bait.

"So," the Master said looking down at Thorin from his greater height, "what assistance do you ask of my town? We will not waste lives. Not on this. Thirteen against a dragon—"

"There are fourteen of us," Thorin corrected, his tone saying that the Master's mistake was a grievous one, yet a mistake that he was willing to forgive for the time being.

"Does _he_ truly count?" The man asked with a nod towards Bilbo. "I mean, what can _he_ do against a dragon? Have you ever even _seen_ a dragon in the flesh."

"Yes," Thorin replied, his voice deathly cold and his eyes like stone as he glared at the man. "Bilbo Baggins _does_ count. There are many times that this expedition would have been lost without his quick mind. I would not endeavor to confront Smaug without him. And to answer your other question; yes, I have seen a dragon. _That_ dragon, and a good deal more closely than you can imagine. I have felt the heat of his scales and seen his fury as he destroyed lives. I was there the day he came. Do not presume that you can lecture me on the dangers and size of dragons. You, who have only ever seen him from a distance from the safety of your lake. I have faced him and yet I live."

There was silence following Thorin's statement. Even tough he had not yelled, the quiet strength and anger in his voice had been all the more intimidating for it. Through it all, Thorin continued to stare at the man. If he wasn't feeling so warm over the kind thing Thorin had said about him in public he would have pitied the man. Thorin was clearly livid and he had been on the receiving end of that anger more than once and knew first-hand just how uncomfortable it was to be fixed with that stare..

"Apologies," the Master said eventually. "I . . . I was unaware of his worth. I'll ask again, what aid do you request of us?" Thorin nodded to show that he accepted the apology, though his manner remained frosty.

"We merely ask for equipment and food," Thorin said. "We do not need your men."

"And how have you come to be in such need of equipment?" the Master asked, noticing for the first time their lack of anything resembling supplies.

"We ran afoul of your neighbors to the west," Thorin replied. "They and I have a long history and they were less than amenable in their accommodations of us."

"Is that what happened to your wrists?" the Master demanded, trying to regain the upper hand in the conversation. Even if they were asking him for help, he had the feeling that he was not in control of the situation. He was pleased when he saw the dwarf flinch and saw one of his hands stray to the bandages almost thoughtlessly. He was a bit worried when the dwarf's face, already impassive enough, blanked entirely and his eyes went distant, staring at something that wasn't there. It was only when the hobbit stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on the dwarf's arm that the Master finally pieced together just why the dwarf had been so adamant about his worth: they were lovers at the very least.

Bilbo had taken his cues from Ori and Dwalin, having never been with Thorin in a situation quite like this before, and had kept his mouth shut and stood off to the side, even when that _man_ had studied him like a creature in a jar and refused to count him as part of the company. But now  . . . he couldn't continue to do so. Thorin was slipping. He saw the signs and this was a very bad place for such a slip to happen. Hoping that it would be enough, Bilbo stepped up and placed a hand on Thorin's arm, just above the bandages. When Thorin didn't react, he took his other hand and squeezed the dwarf's fingers, hard enough that it might have been painful, but he felt no remorse. Not even when Thorin jumped and looked at him as if he were seeing him for the first time before shaking his head and looking back towards the Master.

Seeing that Thorin was back to himself, Bilbo made to move away once more, only to stop when Thorin refused to free his hand. Instead of going back to his place, Bilbo stayed beside Thorin and faced the Master, glaring at him and daring him to comment on anything that had just happened.  He didn't, but he did eye them strangely as he waited for Thorin's answer.

"I . . . yes," Thorin said, his voice shakier than it was before but still clearly audible. "They captured us in the forest, separated us and then proceeded to imprison us. I . . . I was kept away from the rest. They . . . I was less than pleased with being jailed and they chained me for their own safety."

"What made them decide to free you?" the Master asked. Thorin shifted uncomfortably trying to think of how to say the next part that neither revealed Bilbo's Ring or cast them in the light of jail-breakers—even if their imprisonment had been a wrongful one—as that would do nothing to endear them to this man.

"You escaped," the man said, no sign of what he thought about that in his voice.

"We . . . we did," Thorin admitted. "However they had no cause to imprison us in the first place."

"I cannot judge that without hearing both sides," the Master replied. "But I have no interest in that. Tell me this, what do I have to gain from aiding your company when you have already made enemies my allies and neighbors. It will do this town no good to be at war with Mirkwood?"

"Can you not see how you can benefit from the death of the dragon and the return of the dwarves to the Mountain?" Thorin countered. "Once the throne is once again mine, I will be a more powerful ally than Thranduil could ever hope to be. Even if he takes offence at your aid, to my memory, most of your trade comes up the river and not through his kingdom at any rate."

"That is true," the man conceded. "And would you do that? Would you make yourself an ally of Esgaroth?"

"I would indeed," Thorin said with a nod. The gleam that came into the Master's eyes at the statement made Bilbo shift uncomfortably. He had seen that kind of hunger only once before, beneath the Misty Mountains. Once more, Bilbo sincerely hoped that Thorin knew what he was doing.

"In that case, Thorin Oakenshield, the resources of Lake Town are at your disposal," the Master said with a slight bow. Even as Thorin nodded his head in thanks, the master was not seeing him. Instead he was seeing gold coming down from the mountain in thanks for his generosity in their time of abject need. He promised himself that the town just might see some of it, depending on how much came, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are all, a new update just in time for Christmas. I hope that ya'll enjoyed it. It's a bit shorter than normal, but if it didn't go up today it would be another week before it could. I'm going out of town this week and my internet access with be spotty at best. I hope any of you that travel this week have safe, uneventful journeys.


	35. The Comforts of Home

For the portion of the company that had been left behind, the wait for the return of the companions seemed interminable. With every moment that passed, Fíli began to feel more nervous that something had gone wrong. He tried to find various things to do to occupy himself but nothing worked. Normally, he would have taken the time and restless energy and funneled it into weapons care but thanks to the cursed elves, he had no weapons to care for.

He heaved a great sigh and shot to his feet, beginning to pace the space that they had designated as a camp. After about his fourth pass he had convinced himself that his uncle was most likely in chains awaiting return to the elves, Bilbo being tortured for information about how they'd escaped, Dwalin dead and Ori . . . he didn't even begin to think about what they might be doing to the timid dwarf. If that was the case, then he was actually in charge until they could free his uncle. As his thoughts continued to spiral down that dark path, his steps sped. Until he found his path blocked, that is.

"You need to sit down, lad," Bofur said gently taking his arm and leading him back to Kíli's side. "I understand that you're nervous—I do—but you need to conserve your energy just in case the men refuse to help." Fíli nodded and sat beside his brother. He could see the logic in Bofur's statement, but that didn't mean that it was easy to convince his body to listen. He needed to _move_. To at least feel as if he were doing something more than sitting on a bank waiting for news.

"What do you say, lads?" Bofur called to the rest of the company. "How'd you like to hear a story."

"We've heard all your stories," Glóin sighed after nearly two months cooped up together they'd long since run out of things to tell.

"Not this one," Bofur said with a cheeky grin. "I've never shared this one with _anyone_. Bombur doesn't even know this one."

"I doubt that," Bombur countered. "My brother can't keep a secret to save his life."

"A month's worth of cheese says that you haven't heard it," Bofur challenged.

"Make it beer and you have a deal," the cook amended.

"And if you haven't heard it?" Bofur asked knowing that there was no way his brother had heard this one, as he was making it up at he went along.

"Then I'll buy _your_ beer for a month," Bombur said knowing that there truly _was_ nothing that had happened to his brother that he hadn't been there for or heard about later.

"I'll make it two," Glóin chimed in. "That is if this truly is a story we haven't heard." Challenge accepted, Bofur began talking.  Just as it had in the cells of the elves, storytelling helped them to pass the time and distracted Fíli to the point that Dwalin startled them when he walked up.  

He blinked at them in shock. The sight of all of the company roaring with laughter on the banks made him wonder if they had gone delirious from hunger.

"Hello, Brother," Balin said wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "How'd it go?"

"Just get in the boats," Dwalin said shaking his head and turning away from them.

**ooOO88OOoo**

In Lake Town, Thorin, Bilbo and Ori sat in the kitchen of the house the Master had gifted them with for the duration of their stay and stared at the plates of food before them. The Master had called it a "small spread" and promised a feast in their honor that evening once they had taken time to rest and bathe, but it was more food than any of them had seen since Beorn's.

Despite the way the odors made them salivate, they all staunchly refused to touch the food until they were reunited with the others. As they waited, Bilbo decided to ask a question that had been spinning in his head since they split the company.

"Why did you leave Fíli and Kíli?" he asked. "I've never seen you separate from them willingly. Not even when it might have made more sense to do so."

"I do not like being separated from them," Thorin replied after glancing around to make sure they were alone so as not to place his nephews in danger by admitting his fondness for them. "I promised their mother that I would keep them safe and even if I hadn't . . . No, I left them _because_ I wanted to ensure their safety. I was unsure of the welcome we would receive. If we were to be jailed once more . . . I could not bear the idea of them imprisoned."

"And me?" Bilbo asked. "Why did you bring me? It's not as if I would have been of any help had things gone badly."

"You underestimate yourself, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin said, a gentle smile on his face. "As I told that _man,_ I would never dare attempt an assault on the dragon without you beside me. Though the danger here is less . . . I need you, Bilbo. I have never felt such need for another and it . . . it frightens me. As much as I would have loved to leave you with the lads . . ." Thorin trailed off, unable to put his feelings into words but he didn't need to. Bilbo understood what Thorin could not say. With a soft smile on his face, the hobbit leaned in and rested his forehead against the dwarf king's.

"I love you too, Thorin," he whispered.

The gentle smile on the king's face at Bilbo's words and gesture made Ori feel as if he was witnessing something he had no right to see. He found himself wondering if it would have been more awkward had they decided to shag on the table.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As expected, the arrival of the company was a boisterous affair. Any misgivings that they may have had about the men seemed to disappear under the joy of good food and ample beer. The mood, while jolly enough now that appetites had been sated at last, bolstered even further at the pronouncement that there was hot water.

"Bout time, too," Bofur muttered to Kíli. "If I didn't get the opportunity for a good warm soak soon I was likely to be a tattooed as Dwalin, if you catch my drift." Kíli clearly didn't if his bemused expression was anything to go by.

"What he means, Kíli," Fíli said with the long-suffering sigh of an older sibling before leaning in and whispering the answer in Kíli's ear, causing the younger to take on a rather startling blush before looking at Bofur with wide, shocked eyes.

"Now, I don't know what he just said, lad," Bofur said with a smirk, "But I highly doubt the truth is quite so disturbing. What I meant was—"

"Quit traumatizing the lad," Dwalin sighed cutting him off. "They're trouble enough without you encouraging them. And, just so you know, you will _never_ have as many tattoos as I do. You don't have enough skin."

"Which, of course, means that I should have the first bath," Bofur said with a smirk. "As I have less skin to wash, it shouldn't take me as long."

"You just said you wanted a soak!" Dori countered—knowing that a soak meant a long bath—just as Balin snorted and said, "We should do it by age rather than size. After all, it has been bitterly cold and the more elderly amongst us . . . you know what cold does to old bones."

"Why are you arguing for that, Brother?" Dwalin demanded. "You'll be second either way?" Balin shot his brother a look that made Bilbo laugh. Even though he hadn't actually done it, it had been just like the white-haired dwarf had stuck his tongue out at his brother.

The conversation rapidly devolved from there and it was then that Bilbo decided to tell the company what he had discovered while exploring the house to slake his boredom while he waited for them to join Thorin, Ori and himself.

"Lads!" Bilbo called trying to be heard over the din of squabbling dwarves. "Lads! There's no need for this."

"Aye!" Glóin agreed. "We'll never get anywhere this way, let's just draw lots and be done with it."

"And place a half-hour maximum," Balin added. "I like a soak as much as the next dwarf but we've got fourteen to bathe and only one tub in which to do it. We can't take all night about it."

"I disagree," Bilbo said with a small smile.

"Now that's ridiculous!" Dwalin cut in. "I understand that hobbits are creatures of comfort but even you—"

"I beg your pardon!" Bilbo snapped drawing himself up to his full—and unimpressive—height. "That wasn't what I disagreed about and even if it was I will thank you _not_ to comment on the 'comforts' hobbits are accustomed to. Comforts, I'd like to remind you, that I forsook to come on this dratted quest with you. I've never had so much . . ." Bilbo trailed off into a stream of angry muttering to the extent that he quite forgot what he had originally set out to say. Before glaring at Dwalin and snarling "comforts, indeed!" and lapsing into silence.

"What did you disagree about, Bilbo?" Fíli asked, attempting to hide his smirk at the image of the fuming hobbit.

"Oh, that," Bilbo said shaking his head and smiling once more. "I just intended to tell you that there is more than one bathroom in this house. Five to be precise. And each of them holds three tubs. There's no need to decide an order at all."

"Why didn't you say so before, laddie?" Balin demanded with a pleased laugh at the idea that he could have a soak without inconveniencing anyone.

"No one asked," Bilbo replied with a cheeky grin. "So, who's for a bath?"


	36. The Consequences of Feasts

Bilbo let out a deep sigh as he closed the door behind him. It had taken some convincing to get Thorin to agree to select a room on what passed for the ground-floor of the house but in the end he'd done it. He wasn't sure that after the day he'd just been through he could have convinced himself to climb stairs. Boats, lakes, feasts surrounded by tall folk . . . even his Tookish side was feeling a bit over-adventured at the moment. Stairs would have been beyond him.  Even if they would have meant putting more distance between him and the lake below. Also, he was happy to have a bit of time to himself where he wasn't trying to avoid detection. He only hoped that his leaving would not cause offence.

Even as the thought entered his head he knew that it wouldn't. Barely anyone had noticed him while he was at the feast, fewer would notice that he was gone. Oh, Thorin would, but his nephews had stayed and would be more than happy to keep him company. At least as long as the ale held out. Bilbo shook his head fondly as he climbed up onto the bed and laid down. Those boys loved feasts far too much for their own good.

Though Bilbo did have to admit, if it hadn't been for all the Men, that had been a feast worthy of any in Hobbiton. And he had learned that, in the right situation, Thorin was just as wordy as any hobbit giving a speech. He also noticed that, though the dwarf went on far longer than he should have, with the exception of a few eye rolls from Balin, Dwalin and his nephews he managed to hold the audience. With another contented smile at the passion that had been in Thorin's voice, Bilbo settled down into the pillow, properly clean and full for the first time since Beorn's. He was asleep in moments.  

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin was surprised to find that the room was dark when he returned. Despite what Bilbo had said about being tired, he had been able to see that it wasn't exhaustion that caused the hobbit to leave. Any fool could see that Bilbo was overwhelmed by what was going on around them. Thorin had done what he could to try to help by keeping Bilbo at his side, but that had only served to make matters worse. It seemed that everyone wanted to talk to Thorin which, by extension led to them crowding the hobbit.

He had been worried when the hobbit decided to leave. Bilbo was rather small, after all, but a small smile from his lover had wordlessly reminded him that Bilbo was capable of taking care of himself. And if worse came to worse, he also had that Ring of his. Besides, it wasn't as if Thorin could leave. As the Master had said, this feast was in their honor—his honor. He hadn't been able to leave.

And so he had stayed until the party had wound down, part of his mind wondering if Bilbo had made it back to the house unscathed. That's not to say that the moment he saw his chance he didn't take it. Generally, the wild behavior of his company and nephews was a cause of embarrassment to him, that night, he'd taken it as a gift. Fíli and Kíli—and the rest of the company for that matter—had indulged a bit more than was perhaps wise.

And while dwarves were capable drinkers, even they had their limits. It seemed that most of the company had stayed just shy of that limit but Kíli . . . well, moderation was never one of his strong suits. For a time it had been amusing. Kíli, while rather tactile for a dwarf anyway, only grew more affectionate as he drank but it had been acceptable, for a while. It had only been when his nephew began to drape himself across various members of the company and declaring his undying love for each and every one of them that Thorin decided that it was time to remove the lad from the situation.

He'd apoligized and excused himself from the Master before walking to where Kíli was currently wrapped around a rather irate looking Dwalin, petting his head and saying that it didn't matter if he didn't have hair, Kíli still loved him. As Thorin had approached, Dwalin looked at him and mouthed, 'Do something about this.'

"Come, Kíli," Thorin had said, wrapping a hand around his nephew's wrist and untangling him from the warrior. "There's a good lad."

"Uncle!" Kíli had chirped wrapping himself around Thorin instead, a happy smile on his face. "I love you!"

"Yes, lad," Thorin had replied, beginning to drag Kíli towards the door. "That's all well and good but I need you to walk. I think it's time you go home."

"Aw," Kíli had sighed, looking up at Thorin with wide brown eyes that were a bit unfocused from the alcohol in his veins even though he was clearly trying to pout. "Hat's no fair, Uncle. Fee gets to stay." Thorin fought the urge to sigh. He had little luck reasoning with his nephew on a good day but with Kíli drunk . . .

"Fíli," he'd called instead. "Help me get your brother home." Fíli had nodded and risen from his place at the table with an apoligetic smile to the noble he'd been talking with and walked to Thorin's side. There he took Kíli's right arm in his and threw it over his own shoulders to help his uncle support the youngest heir.

"Fee!" Kíli had said, entirely too loudly as he was right in his brother's ear. "I love you, Brother."

"You're drunk, Kíli," Fíli had replied with a laugh.

"Am not," Kíli countered. Thorin gave a skeptical huff and Kíli's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Maybe a bit," he admitted. "I've been worse." Neither Thorin nor Fíli had said anything but simply started for the door, dragging Kíli between them. It had taken both of them to get him up the stairs and into bed. Once there, Thorin had begun on his boots while Fíli had tried to get him out of his coat only to give a cry of surprise as Kíli yanked him down beside him and wrapped his arms around Fíli, refusing to release him.

"Stay," Kíli had muttered. "I missed you in Mirkwood."

"I missed you too but I don't want to sleep here, Kíli," Fíli had replied with a sigh as he tried to break free from his brother once more.

"Then you don't love me?" the younger had said, tears springing to his eyes.

"Of course I love you, you're my brother," Fíli had sighed.

"So you'll stay?" Kíli asked, his tears vanishing as quickly as they'd come. Fíli sighed again and turned his head towards Thorin, his blue eyes pleading for an intervention.

"Sorry, lad," Thorin had replied, pulling off Fíli's boots and covering the two of them with a blanket. "Someone needs to keep him company and make sure he stays here." With that he'd turned and walked out, ignoring Fíli's plaintive call of "Uncle!" as he shut the door.

He gave a small laugh as he began removing the more cumbersome of his garments for sleep. He flinched slightly as one of his boots dropped to the floor with a thud and cast a cautious glance at the lump on the bed that he took to be a sleeping hobbit. Despite the noise, Bilbo didn't stir, though he did begin to snore a bit. The hobbit didn't even react when Thorin crawled into bed beside him.

With another breathless laugh Thorin pressed a kiss to the sleeping hobbit's forehead before pulling him firmly against his side. Bilbo sighed contentedly and nuzzled against him. While the action made him smile, it also worried him. What would Bilbo have done had he been an intruder intent on doing him harm? It was with that dark thought that Thorin drifted off to sleep.

**ooOO88OOoo**

When Bilbo awoke the next morning, it was with a smile on his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woke on his own when he felt like it rather than at the crack of dawn. For that matter, he could barely remember the last time he had woken in a soft bed. With a contented hum, he pressed a gentle kiss to Thorin's forehead. Even if it wasn't the latest lie-in he'd ever had, it was the first time he'd ever not woken alone in a bed.

Thorin stirred slightly and opened one bleary eye to gaze at the hobbit. An eye that quickly snapped shut again as the light from the window pierced him. Clearly he'd had more to drink than he'd thought he had if his headache was anything to go off of.

"Good morning," Bilbo said brightly as he pressed another kiss to Thorin's nose. Rather than reply verbally, the dwarf merely groaned and pulled the blankets up over his head.

"I take it that means I missed a good party?" Bilbo laughed.

"Must you talk so loudly?" Thorin grumbled, one blue eye peeking out from under the blanket in a glare.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo replied in a more modulated tone going to the window and drawing the shutters. "There," he said with a small smile. "That has to be better."

"You're still talking, Bilbo," Thorin muttered coming out from under the blanked and rubbing his eyes to attempt to soothe the pounding behind them.

"So that means you don't want to run errands with me?" the hobbit asked, feeling a bit of trepidation at the idea of going into the town alone. A groan as Thorin rolled back over was his only reply. "In that case, I'd suggest you go back to sleep. You're not at all social this morning." Thorin whipped around to retort only to stop with a moan as the movement made his head ache and the room spin. What had _been_ in that wine?

"Poor thing," Bilbo said reaching out to stroke Thorin's hair from his face before he could stop himself. He did have to laugh at the glare he got in response.

'I don't need your pity," Thorin snarled. "It's only a headache. It will pass."

"Do you want me to ask if Óin has a cure on my way out?" the hobbit asked, not repulsed in the least by Thorin's weak show of temper. He knew his lover would never carry out any of his violent thoughts, even if he was having them at the moment.

"There is no cure for this save sleep," Thorin muttered, laying back down and closing his eyes once more.

"Then sleep well, Thorin," he whispered before pressing one final kiss to the dwarf's head. "I'll be back." Thorin hummed in response and Bilbo walked out the door, making sure to close it softly behind him.  He was almost to the kitchen when the sound of something metal being dropped startled him. Worrying about what may have happened, Bilbo sprinted the rest of the way only to see that Dwalin was standing before the stove looking back at a cringing Kíli with a smirk.

"Please, Dwalin," Kíli nearly sobbed, holding his head in his hands so that his ears were covered. "Not so loud."

"What's the matter, laddie?" Dwalin yelled in response, much to the amusement of the others when Kíli curled in on himself whimpering. With a laugh Bilbo realized that Thorin wasn't the only one who had drank too much the night before. Or perhaps the line of Durin just had a weak tolerance for alcohol, given that everyone else seemed to be fine.

"You lads might want to keep it down a bit," Bilbo cautioned as he sat himself down next to Bofur and picked up a roll and some bacon.

"Don't worry, Burglar," Glóin replied. "Kíli won't be mad. After all, he _loves_ us all, isn't that right, Kíli?" The young dwarf flinched away from his cousin's pat to his shoulder with a nearly feral look in his silted eyes.

"I don't love you right now," he muttered.

"Not what he said last night, was it lads?" Dwalin demanded. The resulting cacophony of laughter and jeers was loud enough to make Bilbo flinch and he hadn't had a drop the night before.

"I wasn't talking about Kíli, though the poor lad may deserve a bit of mercy," Bilbo said ignoring the sounds of disagreement that met his defense of the youngest heir. "I was suggesting it because Thorin is in a similar predicament this morning and, as you all know, his temper . . . well, it's something best avoided."

"Uncle's hung-over?" Fíli asked with a laugh. "Serves him right, too. Leaving me with Kíli. Perhaps I should go arrange a wake-up for him."

"Your funeral," Bilbo replied with a shrug before turning his bacon and roll into a sandwich and heading for the door. "Anyone up for a trip into town rather than witnessing a royal murder?"

"I'm game," Bofur said standing. Ori said nothing but stood and followed the other two sighing when Dori stood as well.

 


	37. Chains of a Different Sort, Madness (?) and a Dragon

It was dark in the room when Thorin next woke. He took a moment to attempt to orient himself, but found that he was unable to. It was a small room, but it didn't seem familiar to him. His head felt strange and he rapidly decided that it had to be from lack of food. It might be time for him to give into his captors and eat once more. He closed his eyes, trying to hear any of the quiet sounds that he had become accustomed to in his cell. They weren't there. What he _did_ hear was the quiet drone of the voices of his company.

He wanted to go to the door and see if they were there, even though he knew that they weren't, but the pressure on his wrists told him that he was still chained and such an action would only cause him pain. It wasn't as if he could reach the door. He glanced down at the once-white bandages wrapped around his wrists before closing his eyes with a sigh. It wasn't the first time he'd imagined himself to be somewhere else—though the bandages were a new touch— but judging by the sounds clearly this was going to be one of the bad days.

He could only hope that Bilbo—or even the elf—would come soon and break this illusion. It was far too cruel of his mind to force him to entertain the fantasies that had begun in his dream. Especially when they were so absurd. It wasn't as if Bilbo would _ever_ suggest that they escape the dungeons by barrel, not with his fear of the water. It was ludicrous. No. They hadn't escaped the dungeons. He was still in his cell, regardless of how much it looked as if he was in a normal room. What appeared to be bandages were shackles. The wooden walls were actually stone. He wasn't free and he never would be.

The more he looked around the room and saw the details of it, the more convinced he was that it was true. The grain of wooden walls around him, the texture of the linen blanket below him, Kíli's laughter . . . they only served to convince him that he'd finally lost his mind. Just like his grandfather. There was no longer any hope of freedom even if Bilbo _did_ find a way to free them from this prison. After all, it wasn't as if he could escape from his own mind.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin was still sitting on the bed with his head in his hands and his knees pulled up to his chest when Bilbo returned from the market. He glanced up sharply at the sound of the door closing behind him panic in his eyes once again.

"Hello," Bilbo said coming to Thorin's side and sitting himself on the bed before the dwarf. "Are you alright?" Thorin just blinked at him a moment before his vision cleared once more and he seemed to focus on the hobbit. For a moment he was still confused about where they were. Bilbo was here. And he'd opened the door on his own. There was no elf with him. If all of that was true it only left one question:  where was here?

With confusion in his eyes, Thorin reached for the hobbit, realizing for the first time that there was no clink of chains accompanying the movement. For the first time since he awoke the second time he began to wonder if the fantasy he'd had had actually been true. It was only when Thorin reached under Bilbo's coat and felt the rent fabric that had been used for his bandages that the confusion faded. But rather than comfort, a different emotion replaced the confusion: abandonment.

"You left," Thorin whispered, betrayal clear in his voice and pain in his eyes as he pulled his hands from the hobbit as if he'd been burned.

"To run the errands you asked me to run yesterday," Bilbo replied stroking Thorin's face in an attempt to erase the tension in his features. "You knew that I was leaving. We spoke about it this morning." When Thorin's forehead scrunched up further as he tried to recall that conversation, Bilbo felt worry for the dwarf flood his veins.

 "Are you alright?" he asked again placing his hand on Thorin's face to turn the dwarf back towards him.

"I . . . I woke up and . . . I knew that the past few days had been a dream," Thorin whispered, his voice broken and his eyes haunted. "I knew that this room . . . my freedom . . . it was all an illusion. A mad hallucination. And . . . I was alone again. You said you wouldn't leave me alone! But I was alone and I just _knew_ that I was still in that cell. Don't leave me alone again, Bilbo. Please." At the end, Thorin's words had turned desperate and he had gripped Bilbo's wrists firmly enough that it was nearly painful.

"I'm not going anywhere, Thorin," Bilbo promised, leaning forward to press his forehead against Thorin's as his wrists were being held immobile. "I swear it. I'll make sure you're completely awake before I have to run errands in the future, deal? I won't let you wake up alone again." Thorin nodded and rested his forehead more firmly against Bilbo's before he visibly composed himself and pulled back, freeing Bilbo's hands.

"Was it at least a productive trip to the market?" Thorin asked looking at Bilbo with blue eyes that had lost a bit of their desperation though the  haunted edge was still there if one looked. Bilbo shrugged rubbing his wrists absently.

"It was alright," Bilbo said simply. "I'm afraid that I wasn't able to find any blue silk but I did find some scented soap and a bit of oil for your hair. You were saying that you wanted some and there was a woman that was selling it. She . . . well she recognized me as your hobbit—well, the _company's_ hobbit at any rate—and when I asked for help selecting some as I said that I knew nothing about it but that it was for you . . . well, she was _more_ than happy to help me. Wouldn't even allow me to pay her. I did bring a bit of money and I won a bit on the road but," Bilbo shrugged again as if to say 'what could I do?'

"What?" Thorin asked trying to keep up with Bilbo's rapidly shifting tale. What did he mean that he hadn't found any blue silk? And why . . . Thorin's eyes went wide as he realized that Bilbo was referring to the statement he had made in the dungeon weeks ago about binding him with blue silk, and his own comment about what he would do if they were properly clean and the oil . . . if Thorin hadn't known better he would have thought that his hobbit was propositioning him.

"I said 'would you take a bath with me?'" Bilbo said looking at Thorin with a smirk. It wasn't what he had said but it was what he had meant, in a way. "I would very much like to see how this soap smells on your skin and how your hair looks when properly cared for. No offence, but it looks a bit wild at the moment."

"I can think of a better use for that oil," Thorin purred, leaning forward to nuzzle Bilbo's neck as he realized that Bilbo did mean exactly what he had though he had.

"It's a large bottle," Bilbo replied pulling it from his bag. "It can do both."

**ooOO88OOoo**

The rest of their stay in Lake Town was less eventful than the first night had been and everyone benefited from their recuperation time. Even so, Bilbo worried. Not only was Thorin continuing to have slips, they were growing more frequent rather than less. While he loved the dwarf and understood _why_ this was happening, and that it was not Thorin's fault, he couldn't help the frustration that rose within him  at just how needy Thorin had become. s

He couldn't help the anger that burned in his veins when he thought of the Elf King. He hated to see the change that had come over Thorin since his captivity. Thorin, who had once thrived on solitude, now seemed to _need_ others around. If not Bilbo, then his nephews or the company. Too much time alone inevitably led to Thorin believing that he was still trapped in the cells and convincing him he wasn't beginning to wear on Bilbo. It seemed as if they were always having the same conversation. And Bilbo was starting to run out of ways to tell the dwarf that he wasn't going mad. Especially since he was beginning to wonder if Thorin wasn't actually. After all, _sane_ people didn't jump at shadows and forget days of happenings at a time.

It was one of those conversations that left the first bruises on Bilbo's skin. In his desperation and fear, Thorin had gripped too hard in his need to feel that Bilbo was real and his fingers had left marks. The dwarf had been beyond repentant once he came back to himself, but the damage was done. For the first time, Bilbo began to wonder if Thorin might be dangerous after all when he was in one of these fits, despite what he had told the dwarf about not needing to fear him. Even so, he stayed. After all, when in his right mind Thorin had never and would never hurt him.

When all the preparations were made and the time had come to leave, Bilbo was more than ready to be back on the road. Not that he truly wanted to go closer to the mountain and the dragon within in, but it would at least solve one of his problems. There was no time for solitude on the road. Even if every step took them closer to the end of everything, at least Thorin would be himself. Or at least that was what he tried to convince himself as the Lonely Mountain loomed over him. Somehow he had never truly prepared himself for this. Some small part of him had never believed they would make it this far. And if the expressions on the others' faces were anything to go by, neither had they. And if their joy and shock when the hidden door was found said anything, it was that none of them had ever thought that if they _did_ make it to the mountain they would ever find the door.

While Bilbo felt their elation, his joy was stopped cold by another realization. This was it. It was time. All the danger he'd already come through that he hadn't been warned about and now it was finally time to fulfill his contract; he had to face a dragon.

"Well," he said looking at them all with a sad smile on his face as he memorized their features in case this was the last time he ever saw them. "I . . . I suppose it's time for me to do what I was contracted to do, isn't it?" All at once, the excitement in the air died. They had nearly forgotten why they'd brought Bilbo with them. The fact that they were sending him into a dragon's den . . . it wasn't something that they had actively thought about since Bag End.

"You . . . you don't have to do this, Bilbo," Kíli said sadly, his eye pleading with the hobbit to decide that he would not. "None of us would fault you. I mean, it's a _dragon_."

"No, lad," Balin said gently. "None of us would fault you for it. After all, there may be a _live_ dragon down that tunnel. If—"

"No," Bilbo cut him off shaking his head. "I . . . I signed a contract. I knew what it was that I was agreeing to, even if I never believed I would actually come to do it. I'll go. Besides, I still have that Ring. I doubt even dragons can see through magic rings."

"You've also done things that weren't ever in your contract," Bofur added. "I'm willing to bet that Thorin will more than hold your oath fulfilled."

"To what end?" Bilbo asked with a sad smile. "The reward was made payable at the end _if_ we survived. I'd hate to deprive all of you of your rewards because I refused to do what I was contracted to after all, we made it this far, didn't we?"

"Gold isn't worth your life, Bilbo," Fíli said gently.

"No, but a home is," Bilbo replied, preparing to go down the tunnel, refusing to say goodbye or look at his lover. He wasn't sure he'd be able to go if he did. He was one step away from the tunnel when he felt a hand close around his arm. With a sigh he turned and looked up into Thorin's blue eyes.

"Bilbo," the dwarf said, his eyes burning with an intensity that Bilbo generally associated with sex but that he knew this time meant something else entirely.

"I know, Thorin," Bilbo replied placing a hand Thorin's hand on his arm and trying to dislodge it. "All the same, I'm going."

"No just—"

"You're not going to change my mind," the hobbit said cutting him off. "So just—"

Bilbo stopped with a grunt as Thorin shoved him against the wall. "Thorin!" he squeaked, shocked at the rough treatment he was receiving at his lover's hands. His wasn't the only voice that had spoken. None of them had ever expected that Thorin would be rough with the hobbit. Fíli, Kíli and Nori exchanged worried glances wondering if this was an after effect of the imprisonment. They hadn't seen any more slips, but Bilbo had been looking rather harried lately. Perhaps they needed to keep a closer eye on him.

"Just listen. Do not speak," the dwarf breathed placing his free hand over Bilbo's mouth and staring down at him seriously. "If the dragon is alive . . . your Ring may be of little help. He _will_ smell you. And me on you. He will _know_ there are dwarves here. Do not lie to him but . . . do not tell him the truth either. And do _not_ give him your name. I know that your mind is sharp, use it. Riddle with him if you're caught. It _might_ save your life."

Bilbo nodded and Thorin pulled his hand away once more before crushing the hobbit to his chest. "Please," Thorin whispered in his ear. "Please come back to me. If you cannot safely burgle anything, just come back alive." Bilbo nodded and smiled, though his eyes were sad. He wasn't certain that he could come back at all and refused to promise something that he could not do. It was everything Thorin could do to allow Bilbo to walk down the tunnel alone and in the end it was only the knowledge that his presence would lead to his hobbit's death that let him do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back. As some of you may know, school is now over! BUT I'm expecting a baby any time now (her due date is the 15th of April but heaven knows they never show up when their supposed to) BUT, I am trying to finish this fic before the baby arrives so that it's not a WIP anymore. I think it can be done. And if not, I should have quite a nice chunk sandbagged. That said, I hope you enjoyed the newest chapter. I'd love to hear what you thought, that is if any of you stuck around through my hiatus :)  
> Stickdonkeys


	38. Clingy Dwarves and an Irate Hobbit

The entire time Bilbo was gone, Thorin paced along the "front porch" muttering to himself. They watched him with concern but were not surprised. Many of them wanted to pace and would have had there been room. They had all grown close to the hobbit, but none of them quite so close as the king.

When the roar came from below, it was only Dwalin's arm around Thorin's chest and Fíli's voice in his ear that stopped him from charging down the tunnel to save his hobbit.

"It won't help," Fíli breathed, glancing over his shoulder with worry in his eyes. "You can't help him. And the smell of dwarf will only enrage Smaug further. It's why he had to come, remember?"

"Besides, if he's caught then he's already dead," Dwalin added. "You getting killed will help nothing." Dwalin's restraint soon became unnecessary as Bilbo himself emerged from the tunnel still smoking slightly.

"I'm fine," the hobbit promised as the dwarves closed in around him. "I swear. I'm a little singed but I'm fine." Even with his reassurances, it was only once each and every one of them had examined him to their satisfaction that he was allowed any kind of space. Needless to say, that space allowance from the other dwarves did not include space from Thorin. Even as Bilbo sank to the ground  smiling up at the sky and laughing to himself Thorin refused to leave his side.

"I fail to see the humor in this situation," Thorin said testily when Bilbo had done nothing but laugh for more than a few moments.

"Oh, it's quite funny, I assure you," Bilbo promised. "How many people, let alone _hobbits_ can say that they not only _saw_ a _live_ dragon but spoke with him and lived to tell the tale."

"You spoke with him?" Thorin breathed, feeling the blood drain from his face at the idea of _his_ hobbit being near enough to a living, fire-breathing dragon to exchange words with it. Despite himself, Thorin began checking Bilbo over once more, knowing that they had to have missed something. There was no way that Bilbo had escaped the mountain unscathed. Fate was not that kind.

"Yes, I spoke with him," Bilbo replied before batting the dwarf's hands away. "And will you kindly _stop_ that. I've already told you that I am fine and endured the poking and prodding of both you and the entire company. He managed to singe my coat and the backs of my feet and legs but I will suffer no lasting damage if you lot will just leave me be! I had one mother, I don't need thirteen of them."

"Right," the dwarf king muttered placing his hands in his own lap and surveying the hobbit with a critical eye. Bilbo's rejection of his care had hurt him more than he would admit but if the burglar did not desire his touch he would not force it on him.

"What did the dragon _say_ , laddie?" Balin asked, breaking the tension that had developed between the couple since Bilbo had batted at Thorin's hands.

"What's it matter what he said?" Dwalin snapped waving away his brother's question. "Did you see any weaknesses? Broken limbs, loose scales, _anything_ we can use against him?"

"You want to fight a dragon?" Bofur asked. "Are you mad? What part of furnace with wings don't you get?"

"And what would you have us do?" Glóin demanded. "Go home? Because those are our options, lads. We can either face the beast head-on and meet whatever fate awaits us and, Mahal willing, reclaim our homes _or_ we can go home in disgrace and face telling the rest of our kin that we made it to the mountain, gained entrance to the treasury and _still_ returned home empty-handed. I, for one, would rather face the beast than the ridicule of our kin."

"Kin who wouldn't come?" Ori demanded. "What right have they to ridicule us? _We_ came. _We_ faced danger. _And_ we made it to the mountain. Do they truly expect us to sacrifice our lives in a futile attempt to kill a dragon?"

"It may not be futile," Kíli added enthuastically, the idea of killing a dragon exciting him. "Tell us, Bilbo, does the dragon have any weak spots? Is there anywhere other than an eye that I could sink an arrow? Somewhere more lethal? Somewhere he _can't_ protect with scales if he sees it coming?"

"Yes!" Dwalin agreed clapping the young dwarf on the shoulder. "I told your uncle that bringing along an archer would be beneficial. True, I was thinking you could bring down _game_ and not a dragon but really, he's just a big bird, isn't he?" Bilbo blinked at the warrior incredulously. A big bird? Had he never _seen_ the dragon? No bird was so well armored! Nor a beast for that matter. And before he'd met the Eagles he would have said that no bird was so cunning.  

"Did you notice anything of the sort, Master Baggins?" Balin asked quietly. That quiet question reminded Bilbo that he had a part to play in this yet. With a sigh he closed his eyes and replayed his encounter with Smaug in his head. All he could remember was  unbelievable size,  and  heat and _cunning_. He hadn't figured on the dragon being so intelligent. He'd been imagining a mindless beast with a lust for gold not the cold calculating thing that he'd been presented with.  But as for weaknesses, he'd noticed nothing. Not that he'd been _looking_ , per say. He'd been a bit preoccupied with the _live dragon_ in the room.

"I . . . I didn't see anything," he said eventually, looking from one hopeful face to another. "I'm sorry. I didn't notice any weaknesses. But . . . but I wasn't looking for them. I was too overwhelmed by the sheer size of everything. Including the hall and the gold. I . . . I can go back. Look for them this time." He wasn't sure what made him offer such a thing at the time, but if you were to ask him later he would have said that it was the disappointment on their faces.

No matter what caused it, he couldn't deny that their cheers and pats made him feel their joy rather than his own fear at facing the dragon once more. And he most likely would have been shuffled down the tunnel right then were it not for Thorin's voice cutting through the revelry.

"Not tonight," the Dwarf King said, his tone broking no argument. "If Master Baggins wishes to tempt fate and bait the dragon once more, that is his prerogative but it will not be this night. I will not allow him to goad the beast further when it has already attempted to incinerate him once. We will allow it time to calm _then_ he may attempt it if he has yet to come to his senses."

"Thorin," Bilbo muttered reaching for his lover, only to have the dwarf yank his arm out of reach, unwilling to bear the hobbit's touch when there was a chance that after tomorrow he would never feel it again. Especially not with Bilbo shunning his touch and recklessly courting death.

"I will hear no more on this matter tonight," the dwarf said to the company, his back to his lover. "We will discuss Master Baggins' death-wish more tomorrow."

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked moving forward to try to figure out what was upsetting his lover. It had been ages since Thorin had called him 'Master Baggins' and to hear it now, after everything they'd shared . . . it hurt. However, the dwarf said nothing more but merely walked away down the path into the darkness.

"Sho-should someone go after him?" Bilbo asked. "He clearly doesn't want it to be me but . . . he _shouldn't_ be alone."

"Thorin can handle himself, lad," Dwalin said. "Come, let me tell you what to look for tomorrow." Bilbo nodded and moved to sit beside the large warrior, even if he couldn't help but sneak glances in the direction Thorin had gone. He only hoped that time alone would not cause yet another slip. He wasn't sure that he had it in him to pull the dwarf out of it again. Especially as Thorin was currently shunning his touch and he wasn't sure that he could forgive himself for being the cause this time.

**ooOO88OOoo**

He needn't have worried. Recognizing what the hobbit's words had _actually_ meant, Fíli and Kíli had followed their uncle. They found him a little way down the path, sitting on the edge and staring out at the Desolation. Neither of them said a word, but simply sat themselves on either side of him and stared out at the landscape themselves, allowing him the solitude he craved and the companionship he needed.

Neither of them knew how long they had sat there before Thorin sighed.

"That once was green," he muttered nodding to the land below. "The men of Dale grew crops along the river, there. And below us here . . . there were pines. And the rest . . . forests, meadows. There were flowers there once, scattered throughout the green like bright gems. Your mother and mine loved the flowers. And game. Deer, boar, fish . . . this land was once fertile, _alive_. That's how  I remember it. Green and alive not . . . Smaug destroyed it. Killed it. Along with men and dwarves. I hate to think what damage he has wrought inside the mountain. I fear he has destroyed more than just the gates."

"The forests will grow back, Uncle," Fíli said quietly. "The game will return. The men will rebuild and begin farming again and . . . and we're dwarves, crafted of stone to craft stone. Any damage he caused we can repair. And once we're done no one will ever know the damage was there.  You know this."

"And Bilbo?" Thorin asked. "Can we repair _him_ if Smaug damages him? Will he grow back like the plants? Can he be rebuilt? Revived?"

"That won't happen, Uncle," Kíli offered. "Bilbo is both cunning and sneaky. Smaug will never touch him."

"I cannot believe that," Thorin replied, still staring out at the destroyed landscape. "That beast has taken nearly everything from me. Why should this be any different? Had he not come we would never have been exiled. We would have remained here, happy, alive. Our line would not be reduced to a mere four dwarves. There would be many of us."

"And there will be again," Fíli promised, not pointing out that there were decisions that had been  made by Thrain and Thror that contributed to the decline of their line than Smaug had. "Kíli and I both carry the blood of our line. We can sire more. The line will not end with us, Uncle. You will have many more grand-nephews and, Mahal willing, perhaps a grand-niece or two to dote on. But first we need to reclaim the mountain so that you can dote on them as a king should. And to do that, we _must_ kill that dragon."

"Bilbo is our only hope, Uncle," Kíli added. "And he knows that. Do you think he would go back in otherwise?"

"Perhaps," Thorin replied sadly. "He does seem to have a lack of regard for his own well-being."

"Only where your own is concerned," Fíli countered. "All the dangerous things he's done . . . they were for you. This is no different. He does this for you, for _your_ home and kingdom. Or have you forgotten that he already has a home?" Thorin did not reply and the conversation lapsed into silence once more.

Eventually Thorin spoke once more. "I was wrong, wasn't I?" he asked. "To react the way I did."

"We understand why you did," Fíli answered diplomatically unsure which of the bad reactions that day his uncle was speaking of. "However an apology _might_ be in order. You did hurt him."

"I thought as much," Thorin sighed before pushing himself to his feet. "Come, there may be food back at camp. Perhaps even something warm in celebration of obtaining entry to the mountain." They said nothing but rose to their feet to follow him back to camp, more than pleased at the idea of a warm meal and a small celebration.


	39. Apologies and Darkness

Bilbo was still sitting beside Dwalin, though his lesson in dragon weaknesses had long since ceased, when Thorin returned. Bilbo glanced up at his arrival but, upon seeing that he looked sane and that Fíli and Kíli were with him, went back to mending a hole he'd somehow managed to get in his coat since Lake Town. He knew that it was petty of him, but he was irritated with Thorin for how he'd behaved. It wasn't that he didn't understand _why_ , but even so it didn't give his lover license to shun him just because he felt like it. Especially when facing Smaug once more was more for his sake that Bilbo's. It wasn't as if Bilbo _wanted_ to go into the den of a dragon once, let alone take repeated soirées into it!

It was this hurt that caused him to turn away when Thorin sat beside him, the hypocrisy of that action not lost on the hobbit. All the same, he felt a strange sense of pleasure at returning the treatment Thorin had displayed towards him.

"Bilbo . . . I . . ." Thorin began before cutting himself off with a sigh. The dwarf King leaned his head against the rock in frustration, trying to find the words he needed to explain his actions to his lover and finding that they would not answer his call. Not knowing what else to do, Thorin reached out and began carding his fingers through Bilbo's curly locks. He wasn't expecting the hobbit's reaction.

"I beg your pardon!" Bilbo snapped turning at the waist to glare at the dwarf, furry burning in his green eyes. King or no, Thorin didn't just get to decide that he was allowed to touch someone after he'd rebuffed their own touch. It just wasn't done!

"Excuse me?" Thorin replied, shocked at Bilbo's attitude towards what was clearly an apology.

"Perhaps I will when you tell me what exactly you think you were doing?" Bilbo said, his glare not abating at the surprise on the dwarf's face.

"I was . . . well it _was_ supposed to be an apology for my actions," Thorin said. 

"An apology?" Bilbo asked, his tone more gentle at the admittance. Apologies from Thorin, in any form, were rare.

"Aye," the dwarf said, his blue eyes soft as he stared at the hobbit. "An apology. My actions earlier were unbecoming of a king, let alone a lover. I should never have been cross with you for acting in my best interests, even if my heart wishes you could behave otherwise. I am sorry."

"It's quite alright," Bilbo replied offering the dwarf his hand. "After all, I was talking about walking into the den of a fire-breathing dragon. I just wish you would have . . . I don't know what I wanted from you but _that_ wasn't it." Thorin nodded but said nothing. He was unaccustomed to apologizing to another and wasn't entirely sure if more was expected of him than he had already given.  

Seeing Thorin's discomfort, Bilbo offered him a small smile. "What do you say, you promise not to do it again and I forgive you and we put this behind us? Does that sound acceptable?"

"More than acceptable," the dwarf replied moving so that Bilbo was seated between his legs. "Assuming you allow me to finish my apology."

"I think I can live with that," the hobbit replied leaning back against Thorin and closing his eyes at the feeling of the dwarf's fingers moving through his hair. In response the dwarf bent slightly so that his breath ghosted over Bilbo's ear when next he spoke.

"You are a marvel, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin whispered. "Worth more than all the gold in that mountain. I don't know what I would do without you." The last part was said so quietly that Bilbo half-imagined that he hadn't hear it at all. But one glance at the tender expression on his dwarf's face told him that it had been no trick of the wind. Though he'd known it before, hearing Thorin say that he was worth more to him than the giant hoard he's seen .  . . the joy that statement brought was more than powerful enough to carry him through his next meeting with Smaug and their forced removal from the front porch and into the eternal darkness of the Lonely Mountain as they awaited their final fate.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It was the longest three days Bilbo had ever experienced in his entire life. He'd thought that his time spent in Thranduil's halls had inoculated him to the darkness he couldn't escape, but it clearly hadn't. If you had asked him right after their escape from Mirkwood if he would ever miss the sun so much he would have told you that it was impossible, but he'd been wrong yet again. At the time he'd believed the stress of sneaking through the elf King's dudgeons was the most stressful thing he could endure but it was yet another count on which he was mistaken.

Sitting in the den of a dragon—which was impossible to forget due to the smell of dragon that still filled the air—waiting for said beast to return and eat them all was the worst thing he'd ever endured. Add to the threat of impending fiery death the fact that they ran out of flammable materials the first day after Smaug smashed the mountain over the secret door and had left them in perpetual darkness for  days until they decided to risk the treasury. Part of the reason they took the risk was the effect the darkness had on Thorin. While none of them liked it, it was clear to them all that the darkness was detrimental to Thorin's grasp on sanity and Bilbo's health in general.

They had been discussing a move into the treasury after the second day with no sign of Smaug—or at least the dwarves swore that it had been two days, without the sun Bilbo couldn't gage time—and no sign of an agreement either. Glóin, Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli were all for going into the treasury and risking the dragon. Bofur, Bifur, Dori, Óin, and Balin wanted the company to attempt to clear the rubble and try to get out the secret door yet again. The rest either wanted the entire company to remain or for a small contingent to go and attempt to exit the mountain and clear the rubble from the outside and free them all. All, that is, save for Bilbo, who was too absorbed in watching the way Thorin's fingers were twitching to take part in yet another debate that would go nowhere.

"And how are we to know if they fail to dig through because they can't do it or because they were eaten?" Glóin demanded in response to Nori's insistence that they could send someone around to dig through.

"Oh yeah," Nori retorted. "Much better for us all to go down to the treasury and get roasted together than to wonder if a few of us were eaten."

"We could send Bilbo down again," Dwalin suggested, looking at the hobbit in speculation.

"And what would that accomplish, Brother?" Balin asked. "He's already gone down to the entrance of the tunnel ."

"Aye," Kíli agreed. "and he said that Smaug was nowhere to be seen. We should all just go."

"And risk the wrath of the dragon," Dori added exasperatedly. "He _could_ be down there. We should—"

"Are you implying that Bilbo _missed_ a _dragon_?" Fíli asked incredulously.

"NO," Dori replied with a sigh. "I'm saying that the dragon might be lying in wait for us to come down. He's not foolish enough to think that we'd come down with him sitting with his snout to the tunnel, is he?"

"And why would he go to all that trouble?" Glóin demanded. "It's not as if he needs a trap to kill us all. One burst of flame would do it. Mahal, he could probably breathe flame right up this tunnel and roast us all here if he wanted to. I tell you, that dragon is not there."

"Which is all the more reason for us to _not_ go," Bofur added as soon as Glóin said that one flame would do it, though Glóin did not stop talking but merely raised his voice to be heard over Bofur.

"Why do you continue to argue this?" Thorin demanded suddenly in a forlorn tone, the first words he'd spoken since the fire had burned out the day before. "It is not as if it matters. We can go nowhere."

"And why can't we go?" Balin asked quietly. Something about Thorin's tone had set him on edge. He'd never heard his cousin speak in such a way. Fíli and Kíli, however, knew exactly what that tone meant and both of them cringed knowing what was coming. It was something they had no desire to see again.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, attempting to calm the dwarf before he could say something he'd regret later, just as Thorin said, "We'll I suppose _you_ can. After all you're not real, any of you. But me, I have to stay here. Probably going to die here. There's no way out."

"What do you mean we're not real?" Dwalin demanded moving forward in the darkness only to be stopped by Fíli's hand on his arm. "Let me go, Lad."

"No, stay," Fíli whispered. "He won't believe anyone but Bilbo. He . . . he thinks he's back in Mirkwood."

"Why?" Dwalin demanded. "What would make him think that?"

"The darkness," Kíli whispered, trying to keep the conversation quiet despite the fact that they could no longer keep this a secret. "The elves kept him in the dark and now the dark makes him think of the elves. Or at least that's the way I understand it. Nori can probably explain it better."

"Why would Nori be able to explain it, Lad?" Balin asked wondering why Nori knew about this before he had. He was Thorin's chief advisor, after all, and Dwalin his shield-brother. And as his cousins, no matter how distant, they should have known about it before _Nori_. That Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli knew first did not trouble him, but Nori . . . that stung a bit.

"Because I've _lived_ it," Nori said bitterly. "Not for as long, but I've lived it. I know what it is to see things that aren't there. To hear them. To know that you're losing your mind." Before anyone could reply, a sharp cry from Bilbo pulled their attention back to Thorin and the hobbit. Even in without light the dwarves could see the pain etched into Bilbo's face as he tried in vain to free his wrists from Thorin's grasp.

"Thorin," he said, his voice desperate with pain as he felt the small bones grinding together. "Thorin, you're hurting me." Again he tried to pull free, but it was futile. He wasn't strong enough to break Thorin's hold on him.

Rather than release him, the dwarf king looked at the hobbit's wrist in his hand in confusion. He didn't understand why he could feel flesh, and bone under his fingers. Why there was a pulse. Hallucinations should have a pulse. Or be warm. He jumped when a second hand touched him, the fingers attempting to pry his own away from the pulse.

"Uncle," Kíli's voice spoke to him, "you need to let go. You're going to break his arm." Thorin followed the fingers on his own hand up the arm to his nephew's face.

"Kíli?" he asked in confusion. "You're real, aren't you?"

"Yes," his nephew replied. "I am and I will let you touch me to prove it here in a moment but you _have_ to let go of Bilbo, Uncle." it was only then that Thorin registered another sound, pained breathing. He looked down in horror at the wrist he was holding, at the hand that was already beginning to go purple, before releasing it feeling self-loathing rise within him. He didn't miss the way that Bilbo pulled the arm into his chest, cradling it gently.

"Bilbo . . . I . . . " he breathed trying to find the words to apologize for possibly breaking his lover's arm and unable to do so. He didn't miss the quaver in the hobbit's voice when he replied.

"Don't," Bilbo said. "It's fine. I don't blame _you_." He meant what he said, but it didn't matter. Even if Bilbo didn't blame him, he wasn't sure that he could forgive himself for this.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli and Kíli sat flush against their uncle while Óin saw to Bilbo's arm—proclaiming it bruised by not broken—while the rest of the company reweighed their choices in light of the newest information. The biggest question they still had, however, required yet more information, and for that they needed Bilbo. As soon as Óin released him, Bilbo stood to go back to Thorin's side but was stopped by Balin's gentle whisper of his name. Bilbo turned to face him and could make out his worried expression even in the darkness.

"It's fine, Balin," Bilbo said attempting to reassure the dwarf. "He didn't mean it and he won't do it as long as he remains himself. I can . . . as long as I can stay beside him . . . it won't happen again."

"I know he'd never intentionally hurt you," Balin replied sadly. "That's not why I'm here."

"Then why?" Bilbo asked, already knowing the answer and fighting the urge to heave a sigh at what he knew Balin was going to ask of him.

"We need to know what happened, Lad," the dwarf replied. "We need to know what drove Thorin to this point." At that Bilbo did sigh. It wasn't that he felt that they didn't deserve to know, it was just that thinking about what had been done to Thorin still filled him with rage and it wasn't an emotion he enjoyed.

"Balin," he sighed. "It's not that I don't want you to know it's just that . . . Nori knows what happened."

"Yes, and he refuses to tell," the dwarf said, irritation coloring his tone. "Says if we want to know we need to ask either you or Thorin. Says it's not his place to say. So I'm asking you. Unless you'd rather I go ask Thorin." Bilbo laughed humorlessly at that. Now he understood just why Balin was Thorin's advisor. The dwarf was far too shrewd for his own good.

"Alright then," the hobbit sighed before moving over by the impromptu council and settling in to tell them of what had happened in Mirkwood in a whisper so as not to pull Thorin out of his brooding and into the conversation. As he spoke, he could feel his own hatred of Thranduil rising once more. When he told of the state Thorin had been in the first time he'd gone in the cell and how the dwarf was if he waited too long between visits.

"That pointy-eared _bastard_!" Dwalin growled. "If I see him again I'll wring his neck, even if I have to take him off at the knees to do it!'

"Only if you get to him before I do," Glóin snarled, to a chorus of  aye's from the rest of the council.

"I think we'll have to get in line behind Fíli and Kíli," Balin said, his own eyes shining with malice that Bilbo would never have imagined the generally kind dwarf capable of.

"And me," Bilbo said bitterly, snorting in amusement when the dwarves all turned to look at him in shock. "What?" Bilbo demanded. "Just because I'm a hobbit I'm not allowed to desire vengeance?"

"Nothing of the sort, lad," Bofur said in a bemused sort of voice. "It's just that . . . well, you seemed so _fond_ of the elves in Rivendell. We just . . . well _I_ didn't think you'd—" he trailed off unable to put his thoughts into words that would not offend his friend. He should have just said it, it wasn't as if he could have done worse because Bilbo _was_ offended.

"You didn't think I was capable of despising someone who'd hurt someone I love?" Bilbo asked incredulously. The dwarves said nothing but shifted a bit uncomfortably, since that was _exactly_ what they'd thought. After all, the Shire had seemed like such a peaceful place. They doubted that Bilbo had ever had cause to learn hatred.

Almost as if he'd heard their thoughts, Bilbo spoke. "I may be a hobbit," he said, "but that does not mean that I'm incapable of becoming angry. And if anyone ever deserved my anger it would be that . . . that . . . there is no word I know that is vile enough to describe that _creature_ daring to call himself the king of Mirkwood. If there was ever a cause that was worthy of violence, this is it."

"I agree," Dwalin said clapping the hobbit gently on the shoulder. "I'll knock him down for you and you can have the first punch. I only ask that you leave something for the rest of us." Despite himself Bilbo laughed at that, not that his laugh lasted long, since Balin decided it was time for them to get back to the matter at hand.

"Other than the touch of others," Balin asked, "what helps keep Thorin from these "slips"?"

"Light," Bilbo said. "And the sun in particular. For some reason the darkness makes it more difficult for him to stay in the present. That and waking up alone. Either of those will cause a slip."

"Then we can stay in the tunnel no longer," Balin sighed. "If we go down to the treasury there will be light from the shafts that were dug and there is sure to be something we can burn during the night."

"Yes," Dori agreed. "Our own bones when Smaug gets done with us. I wonder how long a dwarf will give off light."

"This is no longer up for debate," Balin said firmly. "Thorin can remain here no longer. He, at least, _has_ to go down to the treasury. I, for one, will go with him. And if Smaug _is_ down there, at least it will be a quicker death than starving to death like a rat in a trap. I've had more than enough starvation to last me a life-time."

"We still have food," Dori argued.

"For how long?" Dwalin demanded while his brother, well and truly done with this discussion, stood and began gathering up his pack in preparation for the descent into the mountain. Bilbo, Glóin, Óin, Ori, and Bofur following suit.

"What are you doing?" Dori asked, looking at Ori as though he'd been betrayed.

"I'm going," Ori said simply. "I'm sorry. I just . . . I can't just _sit_ here and wait for death. I'd rather face it." Dori opened and closed his mouth a few times as if searching for words before standing with a huff and beginning to gather his own supplies. After that, everyone followed suit, repacking their things, and then they began the long, torturous walk down the tunnel. 

When they were about halfway down, Ori's whisper to his brother voiced the question they were all thinking but refused to dignify by giving voice.

"Do you think it'll hurt if Smaug is there?" he asked.

"No, lad," Bofur replied, when Dori remained silent. "It'll be quick." Neither Thorin nor Balin—the only ones why had been alive and could remember the sound of the screams of the dying when Smaug first took the mountain— had the heart to correct him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been so long! I've been exceptionally busy lately. But on the positive side, I am now the proud mother of a beautiful (yes, I know I'm probably biased) six week old baby girl, I've graduated from school for the last time for a while, I've passed the NCLEX and now have an RN licence and have moved halfway across the state. So now that most of that is out of the way (as the baby's not going anywhere) I should have a bit more time.
> 
> And, yes, that was one giant excuse :)


	40. Escape and Dilemmas

"Alright," Balin whispered just before the final turn into the treasury, "I think we should wait here and send Bilbo ahead to make sure Smaug hasn't returned; if you are agreed, Master Baggins."

"I suppose it's for the best," Bilbo muttered. While he was loathe to leave Thorin and tempt death once more, but it made far more sense for him to go and scout ahead with his ring than for them all to walk blindly into Smaug's waiting maw.

"Thank you," Balin replied. "Now, lads, once he gets back, if the coast is clear we will creep into the chamber as quietly as we can," he paused to shoot Bilbo a glare as the hobbit snorted at the idea of stealthy dwarves but said nothing since Nori had snorted as well, "and make for the main gates. Even if Smaug's not there, that's no guarantee he won't come back."

"Only one problem with that plan," Dori said.

"And what's that?" Dwalin asked, his tone revealing his exasperation with Dori shooting down every plan they concocted.

"I don't know _how_ to get to the front gate," Dori said, staring down the larger dwarf. "Do you?"

"Well," Dwalin admitted gruffly, rubbing one tattooed hand over his head, "I don't. I wasn't even born when the mountain fell. Brother?"

"I think I can get us there," Balin said. "It's been a long time and my memories are a bit hazy but . . . I can get us there."

"Are you _sure_?" Bofur asked, his normally cheerful demeanor disappearing at the thought of being lost in the halls of Erebor with a dragon roaming about.

"Yes," Balin said, his tone not as strong as it had been moments before.

"You don't sound sure," Kíli pointed out. "You actually sound anything but sure."

"Well, I was only a child when Smaug came, but I assure you," Balin began only to be cut off by Thorin.

"I know the way," the king said, even if the idea of fleeing his own kingdom once more was a galling one, he could see the wisdom of the act. "I remember how to get us out."

"You do, Uncle?" Fíli asked softly. "If you don't—"

"I know every inch of this mountain, Fíli," Thorin cut in. "Or I did before the worm destroyed it. But he can only have done so much to the entrance. _He_ still had to get out, after all. The way from the treasury will be clear. Go, Bilbo. Check that he's gone and I will lead us out." The hobbit looked as if he wanted to say something, but simply nodded and offered Thorin a small smile.

"I'll be right back," he promised, hoping the words sounded more sure to the company than they did to his own ears, before slipping the Ring on his finger and vanishing. 

He was only gone for a few moments, but for the waiting dwarves they were the longest few moments of the quest thus far. Even waiting in complete silence and listening for either sounds of Bilbo's return of sounds of his demise, they were startled when the hobbit reappeared in their midst.

"He's gone," Bilbo said just as he materialized between Dwalin and Bofur, the first reaching for an ax in his shock.

"Don't _do_ that, lad," Dwalin snarled just as Bofur clapped the hobbit on the shoulder with a smile saying, "Good. Now let's get out of this mountain." At that Bilbo looked a bit nervous and glanced around before clearing his throat.

"About that," he said, "what I mean to say is . . . well—"

"The dragon _is_ gone, isn't he?" Kíli asked.

"Yes," Bilbo replied, "but—"

"Then let's go," Fíli crowed his own hand coming down on Bilbo's shoulder.

"It's not that simple," Bilbo continued only to be cut off once more by Glóin.

"Why not?" the red-haired dwarf asked. "He's gone so we can go. What are you babbling on about?"

"It's just that you're dwarves," Bilbo said snippily.

"And what of it?" Dwalin asked sharply, affronted that Bilbo would make such a statement.

"You're not exactly quiet," Bilbo replied. "And even though he's gone, it doesn't mean that he's not coming back."

"So what?" Dori snapped. "You think you'll have better odds of survival without us? Just because the dragon knows the smell of dwarf?" The other's grumbled in distaste at the thought that Bilbo might be thinking that about them.

"No!" Bilbo sighed throwing up his hands before pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a calming breath. "Just listen for a moment, will you? All I'm saying is that you need to _attempt_ to be both quick and quiet. He could return and stealth will be our best bet."

"And just what does us being dwarves have to do with _that_?"Óin asked.

"It has to do with the fact that most dwarves wouldn't know quiet if it snuck up and bit them on the arse," Nori said cutting off the argument. "And the hobbit's right. _Stealth_ is key here."

"Are you saying we can't be stealthy?" Kíli asked loudly causing Dwalin to wince and cover the lad's mouth with his hand.

"He's saying that you need to keep your trap shut, lad." Dwalin hissed.

"So the way is clear, Bilbo?" Balin asked rolling his eyes at his brother's hands-on approach to silencing Kíli and turning his back on the resulting scuffle.

"Yes," Bilbo said, his eyes darting back towards the opening. "For now. But we _have_ to go."

"Then go we shall," Thorin said. "Follow me. And Bilbo, if you don't mind, remain by my side and check ahead with your ring when we come to corners." Bilbo wasn't sure how he could do both of those things at the same time but nodded all the same.

"Mahal preserve us," Dori whispered as Thorin began to lead them out of the tunnel and into the wide expanse of the treasury. Though the king said nothing, he wondered why Dori bothered. If Mahal had not listened to the pleas of the thousands that had been trapped here when the dragon first invaded why would he listen to the prayer of one dwarf now.  Soon even Thorin's morose thoughts disappeared under the wonder that filled them all at the sight of the treasury.

"Mahal's hammer," Dwalin breathed. "I know you said that the gold in the mountain would make us wealthier than we could imagine but . . . "

"There's so much of it," Nori sighed.

"More than I've ever seen," Fíli muttered, his blue eyes wide and his jaw hanging open.

"It should have always been yours, Lad," Thorin sighed putting his arm around Fíli's shoulders and reaching out to draw Kíli to him as well. "You should never have wanted for anything. Neither of you."

"They won't want for anything ever again if we're still here when that dragon comes back," Bilbo said impatiently. He was just as awed with the gold as they were—anyone would have been—but at the end of the day, Bilbo was a hobbit and it just didn't call to him in the same way as it did the dwarves. Or at least that was what he tried to tell himself as he fingered the golden ring in his pocket.

"Bilbo's right," Bofur said, standing up and pocketing a handful of coins. "We need to go. No harm in taking a bit with us though, is there?"

"None at all, lad, none at all," Glóin agreed bending and filling his own pockets, the rest of the company soon following suit, comparing gems they found with the other members before pocketing them.

"Dwarves!" Bilbo growled before raising his voice. "We don't have time for this," he called. "We need to go _now_. Smaug could return any minute."

"He's right, lads," Balin said. "Enough's enough. Let's go." There was a bit of grumbling but they couldn't argue against that truth and picked up their final handfuls and waited for Thorin to lead them away from the hoard.

"Seems a shame to leave all that to the dragon again, eh?" Nori asked to no one in particular. No one answered him, but everyone—Bilbo included—agreed with him. But, shame or no, they had no choice but to do just that. After all, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit couldn't take on a dragon.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The trip out the gate was mostly uneventful. There were a couple of moments where nerves nearly got the better of Bilbo, a sudden sound ahead causing him to fear sudden death—or more worrisome yet, a drawn out death—but none of them turned out to be Smaug lying in wait for them.  In fact, there was no sign of the dragon even once they were standing among the twisted remains of the great gates that Smaug had wrenched from their hindges over a hundred years before.

"So much destruction," Thorin muttered placing his hand over a hole that had been rent in the gate where Smaug had removed a gem from the metal—the act evidently his by the great claw mark in the iron. "Craftwork that should have lasted the Ages: destroyed. The names of the makers, forgotten." He ran his finger over some runes that had been below the setting. The were nearly obliterated in the dragon's attempt to claim the jewels, but the tops and bottoms of the runes could still be seen.

"Perhaps it can be repaired,"Balin said gently. "The names are nearly legible. We can work to preserve the memory of their work if not the work itself. We can restore it just as it was before."

"My memory is not _that_ fresh," Thorin argued. "I cannot remember which stones were in the gate. Their work is undone. As is ours. The dragon has won yet again. Once more I've had to flee my home for fear of him."

"We're not leaving," Bilbo argued.

"You're mad!" Nori countered. "We've got some of the gold, we can't fight the dragon; we should leave."

"And go where, Master Dwarf?" Bilbo demanded. "How do you propose we cross the Desolation if the dragon is seeking us out? Where would we hide if he came?" There was a general grumbling at this as they realized the hobbit was right.

"But where will we go _here_?" Fíli asked. "We can't go back into the mountain and it's not like he'd miss us if we stay on his front porch. We'd have better luck of avoiding him on the plains."

"There's an old gurad house," Balin suggested. "It's just around the face of the mountain. An outlook of sorts. We could go there. It would offer us shelter from the elements and perhaps from Smaug."

"It's as good a place as any," Thorin agreed. "Move along this ridge. You can't miss it. Bofur  lead the way and watch for unstable rock. Fíli, go with him and watch for the dragon." They nodded and began the task of leading the company to the old guard house.

"How on earth did you remember that was there?" Thorin asked his cousin quietly as they set off.

"Easily," Balin replied with a smile. "I used to hide there when it was time for my lessons. Mother never found me. I figured if it would conceal me from _her_ then it would have no difficulty with Smaug."

"Your fortunate she's not around to hear you say that," Dwalin said with a laugh. "She may be old, but I would put it past her to take you over her knee even now for comparing her to Smaug the Terrible."

"Am I wrong?" Balin countered. Dwalin said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes on his opinion on the matter. Thorin's quiet chuckle at the comparison was music to Bilbo's ears as they made their way along the ledge. He hoped that his lover's good humor marked the end of the troubles from Mirkwood, even if he knew that such a hope was foolish optimism.

 


	41. Ravens and Home

Night came with still no sight of the dragon. Bilbo'd thought that he saw fire flare earlier but hadn't been certain enough to say for sure that it wasn't just the sun on the waters of Long Lake. Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that something important was about to happen, and from the way they fidgeted, neither could the company. Some of the older members were attempting to sleep, lying on the ground staring up at the stone above their heads. Even Thorin seemed to be resting peacefully, leaning against his hobbit, snorring softly, while Bilbo absently braided the dwarf's hair and stared in the direction of Lake Town. 

So it was that Bilbo was the first to notice the form flying towards them from the town. He was unsure what it was but knew that it was far too small to be a dragon so did not bother to raise the alarm even as the small shape made a beeline for their hiding place. It was only once it landed that he recognized it to be a thrush, and, unless he was very much mistaken, the same thrush that had been on the rock the day he'd come back from provoking Smaug from the mountain.

With a small chuckle, he turned away from the bird thinking to himself that even birds have to have a home somewhere. No sooner had he gone back to looking towards the lake than the bird began to twitter loudly, hopping in place on the wall and looking all the world as if he was wanting attention.  

"It's almost like he wants to talk to me," Bilbo muttered. "Do you have a message? I'm afraid that I don't speak bird. None of you do by any chance, do you?"

"Oh, just leave it be, laddie," Balin muttered rolling over to go back to sleep. "It's just a thrush. 's'not like it's a raven or an eagle. Everyone knows thrushes don't speak Common. Not like they'd have anything to say if they could." The bird seemed to puff up in outrage at that before giving an angry tweet and flying away.

"Now you've gone and offended him," Bilbo said. "I hope you're happy. Driving off the only sign on life left on this forsaken mountain."

"I doubt Balin offended him, Bilbo," Fíli said in a placating tone, knowing that the hobbit's foul temper only came from being cooped up away from the sun and stars while waiting for Smag to return and eat them all. " After all, it was only a bird. Not as if they have feelings, after all."

"I assure you, Master Dwarf," a strange voice croaked, "birds are very capable of feelings. And mine are a bit ruffled at your thoughtlessness. I would think a youngster of Durin's line would know better than to say such things."

"Who said that?" Fíli demanded turning and seeing nothing but a balding old raven sitting between two sleek birds of the same species on the wall of the guard post. "And how'd you know I'm from Durin's line? Not that I am, mind."

"I did," the voice came again. "And your nose. Tells any who have ever seen a member of The Line and I have seen a many, Lad."

"Doubtful," Thorin said joining the conversation. "Reveal yourself."

"What a way to speak to an elder that came simply to give you information!" the voice scoffed. "I would expect better from you Thorin, son of Thrain. Thror would be ashamed of the way his grandson speaks to an ally."

"I will treat you as an ally when you behave as one," Thorin returned glaring at the nothingness surrounding the bird, wondering if someone else had a ring like Bilbo's. "Reveal yourself."

"I sit before you," the voice returned. "I am Roäc, son of Carc."

"The raven," Bofur said, noticing the bird's beak opening in time to the words. "By my beard, that raven spoke, or I've been too deep in the cups."

"You're always too deep in the cups," Bombur replied. "You drink more than any dwarf I know, save young Kíli here." The heir in question blushed at the reminder of his night in Lake Town and prayed that would be the end of it. Sadly, no deities were listening

"At least I don't _love_ everyone when I do," Bofur retorted.

"No," Kíli said, attempting to salvage his reputation. "That's how you are all the time. Why, you were the first one to make friends with the hobbit."

"And just what's wrong with making friends with the hobbit?" Thorin asked, his words slow and calculated. He knew what Kíli had been trying to do and that he hadn't meant anything by it but he couldn't pass up a chance to make his nephew squirm a bit.

"Nothing," Kíli replied hastily. "Nothing, Uncle. I was simply saying that he was the first. I mean . . . you didn't make friends with him until the Carrock and then . . . well, I suppose you didn't make _friends_ with him, did you?"

"Oh, he _made friends_  with the hobbit, didn't he lads?" Dwalin snorted.

"We can discuss my friendships later," Thorin cut in just as Bilbo puffed up to say something in return that he had no doubt would be vulgar— and judging by the shade of green that his nephews had turned they were thinking the same. "In case you have forgotten, we have a guest. What brings you to us, son of Caroc."

"I bring you news, O King," the raven replied. "Thanks to my kin," he paused to nod at the thrush.

"Told you it was trying to talk," Bilbo muttered to Balin who avoided answering by shushing the hobbit.

"What is your news?" Thorin asked, standing a bit straighter at being addressed as he remembered his grandfather being addressed by the ravens. Something about his position being recognized by those other than his own kin, and being treated with deference because of it, helped clear the darkness from his mind and for the first time since he'd been imprisoned, he _felt_ like the leader of a people again.

"Smaug is dead," the raven said. "Slain by the hand of Bard." Bursts of disbelieving laughter met his words, laughter that soon melted into full out celebration.

"It's ours," Fíli said grabbing Kíli by the shoulders and shaking his brother, his own eyes wide with wonder. "Kíli, it's ours."

"You did it," Dwalin said clapping Thorin on the shoulder. "You led us home."

"Congratulations, My King," Balin whispered, bowing his head at Thorin, the rest of the dwarves following suit. Only Bilbo remained upright, a worried frown on his face. Nodding his thanks at his kin, Thorin made his way to his hobbit.

"What troubles you?" Thorin asked, wondering why his lover would be troubled by him securing their position and ensuring that he could continue to provide the hobbit with the comforts he was accustomed to in his beloved Shire.

"Bard," Bilbo said softly. "For him to have killed Smaug . . . what happened to the town?  He wouldn't have left his children to fight a dragon. He must have attacked the town.  W-what did we do?"

"What became of the town?" Thorin asked the raven as the bird watched the dwarves celebrate with eyes that, while clouded with age, saw far too much.

"Burned,"  Cäroc replied. "Many died. The survivors make their way here, seeking aid."

"They shall have it," Thorin replied. "I remember seeking aid and being denied. Furthermore, we promised them trade in exchange for their kindness. They will find that dwarves are a race of their word. Erebor will aid Esgaroth in her time of need." There were mutters of agreement at this pronouncement.

"How long until they arrive?" Balin asked.

"They are two days march from Erebor," the bird replied.

"Then let's get to it, lads," Bofur said. "As it sits now, the mountain isn't fit for women and little ones. Let's try to make it so it is." There was a chorus of 'aye's' at his words and as one the dwarves set off back down the mountain to begin excavation and repairs of the mountain's defenses and quarters.

"That's a wonderful thing you did, Thorin," Bilbo said beaming up at his lover before following after the crowd.

"I don't disagree," Balin began quietly," but _Men_ in Erebor? Thror would never have—"

"If we turn our backs on them when they come seeking shelter we are no better than that . . . than Thranduil," Thorin answered simply. "I will not turn away females and children, be they dwarf, human or even elfkind. We will shelter them. That is my final word on the subject."

"As you wish, My King," Balin replied bowing once more and directing Thorin to lead the way back into the mountain. It was only once Thorin stopped, touching the twisted metal of the gate gently, that Balin spoke once more.

"Welcome home, Sire," Balin said.

"Home," Thorin muttered, looking around at his nephews and company beginning to shift stones and repair the damage the dragon had caused. At Bombur laughing when his brother alone picked up a stone that Bilbo and Ori had been attempting to move together, much to their amusement as well. When Bilbo looked at him, laughter on his face and joy twinkling in his blue eyes, Thorin couldn't help but smile as well.

"Home," he repeated, feeling years of stress evaporate at the word. "Balin, we're home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too bad it can't just end here, eh?


	42. Unpleasant Tasks All Around

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity as the mountain was made ready for habitation once more. It seemed as though the stones themselves were punishing the company for the years of neglect. For every stone placed in its spot once more, there were a dozen more waiting to be repaired. And there weren't just structural issues to be dealt with, there was also the issue of reestablishing a water supply from plumbing that hadn't seen maintenance in over a hundred years and cleaning up the puddles that had resulted from the lack of attention.  And there was organization, cataloging, and securing of the treasury to see to before hundreds of strangers were allowed into the mountain—this being overseen by Glóin—and then the task that no one wanted, finding room for all of those people.

While there was plenty of room in the Lonely Mountain, there was very little room that hadn't been previously inhabited by someone who was either long dead or absent and either way it felt _wrong_ to simply turf out their possessions to make room for someone else. Even so, there was nothing to be done for it. The things could not stay untouched, not with the influx of people they were anticipating; so, with heavy hearts, each of the company took their turn to clean the rooms down to stone and usable furniture and discarding the rest. The only exception to this were the things that were clearly family heirlooms. These things were also carefully cataloged, their place, description and previous location written down before they were placed in the treasury to be guarded until such a time as someone attempted to claim them.

Even what had been the royal chambers were treated to the same cleaning. Thorin himself did the task, none of the others would dare. He delayed the inevitable, citing the need to find the Arkenstone or to assist with refortification or to forge new pipe for the water system, but eventually he could put it off no longer. It was with a heavy heart that he took Bilbo and his nephews to the room that had once belonged to his mother and father.  He paused before the gilded door, his hand on the knob, and closed his eyes wondering what over a hundred years of disuse had done. He felt a gentle hand on his arm and looked down to see Bilbo smiling sadly up at him.

"It won't be easy," Bilbo said softly. "All the same it has to be done and we're here with you." It was only then that Thorin realized how difficult all the cleaning out had to have been for the hobbit. Even if Bilbo hadn't known the dwarves who had lived in these rooms, it had to bring back memories of cleaning out his parents things after their deaths. He wondered if anyone had been there for him when he'd had to do it or if he'd been alone. The mental image of a solitary, grieving Bilbo boxing up his parent's things . . . it was one that Thorin did not like. 

"Let's get this over with," Thorin growled, taking a deep breath and gripping the large sapphire that served as the knob more tightly. As he opened the door, he was unsure whether he was hoping for it to be changed or to have been untouched by time. What he found was a mix of both. Things were exactly as he remembered them, his mother's silver brush laying on the vanity next to his father's golden comb, the green dress she'd been intending to wear to dinner that night laid out beside his father's Durin-blue formal robes. It looked as though they had just stepped out and would return at any time. The main thing that told him it wasn't so, other than his own knowledge, was the thick layer of dust that coated everything. 

He walked slowly into the room and ran his hand over the emerald-green fabric, studded with true emeralds and pale-green diamonds pulling back suddenly when the fabric disintegrated under his fingers.

"This . . . it was her favorite dress," he muttered. "She looked like you," he added turning to look at Fíli. "She had the same golden hair. But her eyes were green. Father always . . .  I wish she could have met you."

"And I her," Fíli replied. "From what Mother has said, she was a wonderful dwarrowdam."

"Aye," Thorin muttered. "That she was." Bilbo placed a gentle hand on his arm as the dwarf closed his eyes, visibly reining in his emotions. When more than a bit passed with no one moving or saying anything more, Bilbo spoke.

"Well," He began slowly, "I suppose there's nothing for it but to do it, is there? Where would you like me to start?"

"Oh," Thorin said, shaking his head and looking around as though he'd forgotten there were others in the room. "I suppose . . . the wardrobe."

"Is there anything—"Bilbo asked only to be cut off by his lover.

"Dispose of all of it," Thorin replied. "If any of the jewels come off easily salvage those but the rest . . . it . . . I would prefer to see no one in their clothing, even if any of it is salvageable." Bilbo nodded his understanding, all the same, when he came across a coat or an article of clothing that was still holding together he planned to place it in a different pile. It made no sense to him to dispose of everything, and perhaps Thorin's sister would not feel the same when she arrived.

**ooOO88OOoo**

In the end it had been a moot point. There had been nothing in the wardrobe worth salvaging. The furs and fabrics dissolved in his hands, the jewels falling to the bottom with thuds, breaking the otherwise tense silence in the room. It seemed that Thorin and the lads were having no better luck across the room, all the sweet oils and perfumes having evaporated to sludge in the long years of disuse and leaving many of their beautifully worked containers forever stained. Though it took longer than any of them had believed possibly, the royal suite was soon stripped to bare stone furnishings.

That unpleasant task behind them, Thorin, Bilbo and the lads moved back towards the gate to rejoin the preparations for visitors. True, there were still more rooms in the royal wing to be cleaned, but Thorin wasn't sure that he had it in him to go through his grandfather and brother's things, let alone his old possession. And he felt that Dís should be the one to go through hers. Even if she had only been nine at the time of their removal from the mountain, they were still her things and she should be given the right to decide which of them she wished to attempt to salvage. It pained him that more people could not be granted the same privileges, but if the waited for all the stragglers to return and clear their own homes there would be no where to place refugees. 

It was with that in mind, and not through dereliction of duty, that he delegated the task of cleaning out his and his brother's old rooms to Balin and Dwalin. After all why should he be granted privileges that his people would not be when it was his family who had failed to protect the mountain from the dragon in the first place. Or at least that was what he was trying to convince himself of. He wasn't certain that he did, and, judging by the looks on his cousins' faces, they were not convinced either. Only Bilbo showed no signs of doubt, simply placing a comforting hand on his arm and smiling up at him encouragingly. As he looked at that gentle smile he wondered once more how they ever would have made it without Bilbo Baggins.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Time flew by in the light of the flurry of activity and before any of them could believe it, the ravens reported that the survivors of Lake Town would reach the mountain by midday. As they looked around at the repairs they had made and the damage still present, they could only hope that it would be enough for the influx of people. Bilbo, in particular was nervous about the arrival of so many Big People. While he was as opposed to the idea of women and children, or anyone for that matter, attempting to weather the winter without shelter, he wasn't certain how he would adapt to being surrounded at all times by such large folk. It had been one thing in Esgaroth, when he knew that it was an extremely  temporary arrangement, but this . . . hobbits of the Shire did not cohabitate with Men. It just wasn't done.

 Even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized the hypocrisy of it. He had already done so many things that hobbits of the Shire did not do; what was one more? He had adapted to everything the quest had thrown at him, his Baggins blood giving way to his Took heritage, and that had been far more out of the norm than what he was anticipating now. After all, hospitality was something Bagginses knew all about. This was merely hospitality on a grand scale. He could handle this, he only needed to allow his Baggins sensibilities and his Took bravery merge. It was only a few hundred, maybe a thousand, very large guests.  He only hoped it was a conviction he could stick to; it wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter anyway.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin could feel the tension radiating from his mate as the first of the tall figures broke the rise and began the descent into the arms of the mountain. Never taking his eyes off the figures he threaded his fingers through the hobbits.

"No harm will come to you, Bilbo," Thorin promised. "I will see to it."

"I know that," Bilbo replied, a small laugh in his tone. "All the same, generations of admonitions against consorting with Big Folk don't disappear overnight. Or even over a few nights, it seems."

"I wouldn't expect them to," Thorin returned. "Will you be alright? I failed to think of your aversion to Men when I decided they would be welcome. Would you prefer I turn them away?" Though the words had been phrased as a question, something in Thorin's tone had been unsettling. While Bilbo knew what the answer was, he was reluctant to give it.

"What?" he asked, wondering if the same edge would be present in the repeat of the question, assuming of course that Thorin would repeat himself. He nearly flinched at the distrust and anger in his lover's blue eyes as he turned away from the refugees for the first time since they had appeared.

"I asked you if you would have me turn them away?" Thorin repeated, his hand tightening around Bilbo's and cold fury lacing his words. "Would you allow your discomfort at the idea of 'Big Folk' to deny them the shelter and aid they need?"

"Of course not!" Bilbo nearly squeaked, fighting the urge to back away. This was _Thorin_. He would never hurt Bilbo, it was simply his anger at the injustices against him coming out. It wasn't truly anger at Bilbo. There was no need to be afraid. Even that knowledge did not stop his heart from hammering against his rib cage at the look his lover was fixing on him.

"Good," Thorin said, the anger not entirely leaving his eyes. "As much as I love you, I could not take a mate that would ignore the suffering of others."

"I would never," Bilbo promised, wishing the dwarf would loosen his grip on his hand as his fingers were beginning to go numb. "I came on a quest with thirteen strangers in need, did I not? I may not be entirely comfortable with the idea of being around so many tall folk, but they are welcome." Thorin grunted in approval and released Bilbo's hand. The hobbit waited until he was certain that the dwarf's full attention was back on the approaching masses before he glanced down at the fading red marks from Thorin's fingers and the livid semi-circles where his nails had bit into the skin. Though he felt trepidation rising within him, Bilbo attempted to convince himself that Thorin hadn't meant it.  This time, his conviction of the fact was less than it had been in the past.


	43. Where Do We Go From Here?

As noon and the approaching crowd drew closer, some of the younger, sharper-eyed dwarves, began whispering among themselves. None of them could recall seeing blonde Men in Esgaroth, but there were a startling number of blondes in the approaching mass. Additionally, a fair number of the blonde Men seemed to be mounted, but there would be little cause for the Men of the lake to have horses. It was as Fíli, Kíli and Ori were discussing this anomaly that Thorin overheard them.

"Why do you whisper? What do you see?" Thorin demanded.

"We're not sure, Uncle," Fíli replied. "Do you recall seeing blondes in the village?"

"No," Thorin replied. "Anyone?" There were a chorus of 'no's to his question. "Why?"

"It seems that more than half of the people coming this way are blonde," Kíli replied. It was only then that Bilbo—who had been imagining what the spurs of the mountain would look like covered in wild flowers and wondering if he would be able to import them from the Shire. He knew that he had the funds now but wondered about the logistics and if they would even survive in this climate—looked more closely at the refugees and felt a curse leave his lips.

"What is it, laddie?" Balin asked, remembering that Bilbo's eyes were the sharpest of them all. Bilbo laughed humorlessly before looking at them all and fighting the, shocking, urge to break something or someone.

"Just our luck," Bilbo muttered, beginning to pace. "Lucky number fourteen, indeed! Trolls, goblins, imprisonment, rivers, and now _this._ "

"What do you see, lad?" Bofur repeated, beginning to grow worried at the hobbit's continued muttering with no straight answer.

"Elves," Bilbo scoffed, gesturing at the crowd for emphasis. "Better than half of _that_ is elves. And not the good ones, oh no! That would be too easy. They couldn't be the kind, patient elves from Rivendell. No! They had to be those blasted Mirkwood elves! And with no other than their _king_ at the lead of the mess."

"Elves?" Balin demanded. "What business have they here?

"Probably think we're dead," Bofur added with a sardonic smirk. "After all, a dragon did swoop down and burn up the town. What are the odds we survived that?"

"They want the treasure," Glóin surmised.

"Oh they'll get it, won't they , lads?" Dwalin added. There were confused looks all around at his statement.

"Brother?" Balin asked moving towards him cautiously with a hand raised. "How many fingers do you see?"

"What?" Dwalin snarled batting away his brother's hand. "I'm not mad. They'll get it when they pry it from our cold, dead fingers, aye?"

"Aye," came the agreement from all save Bilbo and Thorin. Bilbo, though he wouldn't say no to some form of recompense against the elves, wasn't certain that he was willing to go to war over gold. The wrongs done to Thorin and the others, _perhaps_ but not for gold.

As for Thorin, as soon as Bilbo had mentioned the word 'elves' a rushing sound had filled his ears and he'd heard nothing more. Elves. Elves were coming to his home. They were coming for him again. He felt panic that he hadn't felt since the coming of Smaug flood his veins at the thought of being locked away again. And this time there would be no one to come for him. Bilbo, too, would be imprisoned and there would be nothing for it. He would be alone, in the dark until madness took him as it had his father and grandfather. All his pain and struggles would be for naught. His people would never regain their home, the elves would take the mountain for their own, of course. His sister would never see her sons again. He felt a hand touch his arm and jerked it away on instinct. None of them would touch him. They would have to kill him. He would never go with them, not with solid stone behind him and beneath his feet. They would only take him from his mountain again in a casket.  

 "Thorin?" Bilbo tried again, reaching out to his lover but not quite touching him after the way he had pulled away before.  Those blue eyes that hid nothing from him flicked over him, not seeing  him, blind with the panic that was evident in their depths as he cowered against the wall of the mountain.

"Careful, lad," Dwalin cautioned. He'd seen more than one dwarf injure someone the loved in such a state and Bilbo was no dwarf. A solid blow from Thorin could kill him. And with the dwarf-king backed against the stone as he was, there was no doubt in Dwalin's mind at all that Thorin was prepared to fight.

"He won't hurt me," Bilbo said firmly before stepping forward again. "Thorin," he called once more placing his hands on either side of the dwarf's face, ignoring the way he cried out and attempted to pull away, blocked in his efforts by the mountain at his back. He flinched slightly as his lover's hand grabbed his hair, the touch too tight and painful, and despite his best efforts, he released Thorin's face to grab at the wrist tangled in his curls, but still he continued talking, attempting to reorient the dwarf.

"Uncle," Fíli and Kíli cried as one, starting forward as one of Thorin's hands moved toward Bilbo, balled up and prepared to deliver a blow to the head he was holding still. They knew they would never make it in time to stop the first hit and only hoped to stop any that followed and that Bilbo would survive even that. 

Thorin heard his nephews call for him and looked around quickly, though every instinct he had told him not to do so in the midst of battle. He saw them sprinting towards him and couldn't help but smile. They were good lads. Coming to help him defeat the pointy-eared bastards that dared to assault him within his own home. Even though he'd never fought an elf before, the texture of the hair in his hands felt strange to him. When he'd thought about it, he had assumed that their hair would feel as ethereal as it looked, insubstantial, not at all like hair should feel. And the hands scrambling at his wrist. He had thought elves had bigger hands. The guards that had imprisoned him certainly had. Their grips on his arms had taken up his entire upper arm, these hands barely covered his wrist. As he looked down once more, he realized that the face twisted in pain before him was no elf, but rather that of his mate.

With a groan of disgust he released his hold, his hands coming up to tangle in his own hair instead and watched in horror as Bilbo rubbed his head with a grimace.

"Bilbo, I—"

"I'm fine," the hobbit cut him off, the quiver in his voice showing that the opposite of that was true. "It only hurt a bit. I'll be alright."

"I'm sorry," Thorin muttered, reaching for Bilbo only to pull back when his lover flinched. He was devastated that yet again he had harmed his mate. Never should Bilbo have feared his touch. If it wasn't for Thranduil . . .

"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing it would never be enough. As he looked once more at his lover he swore that whatever it took he would never see Bilbo Baggins injured again. If he had to raze Mirkwood to the ground with his own two hands and slaughter everything there, it would never happen. The elves would never touch his mate.

"Thorin?" Balin asked. "What should we do?"

"Close the gates," Thorin ordered, his voice hard with his new conviction. "The Men of Esgaroth have allied themselves with the Elves of Mirkwood. Their new allies can offer them aid. They will receive none from us. Glóin, has my grandfather's crown been found?"

"Aye," the red-headed dwarf replied.

"Good," Thorin said, pulling himself away from the wall and to his full height.  "Bring it to me. Fíli, Kíli, please see to Bilbo inside the mountain. I will not have him seen by the elves."

"But Thorin," Bilbo protested, worried about how his lover would handle being before the elf-king without him.

"No, Bilbo," Thorin whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "I will not allow him to see you. If they do insist on war I will not have you made a target. You understand, don't you?"

"I have the Ring," Bilbo countered. "I could wear it, stand by your side invisible. He'll never see me."

"No, Bilbo," Thorin said, pulling back to look at him and giving the hobbit a full view of his fear. "You yourself told me that you still cast a shadow. I will not give them the opportunity to hurt you. You and the lads will remain inside while we treat with them. I will hear no debate on the matter."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Bilbo replied, sarcasm dripping from the words.

"Thank you, _Gishivel_ ," Thorin whispered, bending to press a kiss to Bilbo's forehead, not hearing the sarcasm. "I would not see you harmed. Thank you for allowing me to protect you." With that he nodded to his nephews, who took Bilbo by the elbows and led him back into the darkness of the mountain. Though the hobbit knew that the Khuzdul word had been a term of endearment, something about it made his skin crawl.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Fíli, Kíli and Bilbo were sitting in the treasury, sifting through the piles and continuing the cataloguing when Thorin and the rest of the company, minus Bofur and Bombur, returned. It was clear from the expressions on most of their faces that the meeting hadn't gone well. Only Thorin's face was blank, giving no hint to how he felt about what had happened.

"What did they say?" Kíli asked quietly.

"They each want a sixteenth of the gold," Balin said when it was clear that Thorin was not going to answer. "Bard for the destruction of his town and Thranduril . . . well he didn't say why he wants it."

"And what did we agree to?" Bilbo asked. "I mean, Bard is owed the gold. It was our fault that Smaug burned the town after all. Now Thran—

“We will give them nothing!” Thorin cut him off. “ Neither of them. Had Bard come alone, then perhaps I would have been willing to negotiate but to bring an army of _elves?_ No. If they want a war, we will give it to them. They will get naught that gleams from us save the metal of our weapons!” The company shifted anxiously at the pronouncement. They didn’t want to go to war with the Men. The Elves, perhaps, but not the Men. But none of them could say anything in disagreement with their king, not since he had become this strange creature that occasionally lashed out at even his own mate. None of them but one.

“You’re a fool, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo said in a small voice looking quietly at the back of his lover. The rest of the company drew a collective breath. Normally Thorin would do nothing to hurt the hobbit, but this version . . . they only hoped that Bilbo knew what he was doing because Thorin could do serious damage to him before they could stop him if he had a mind to.

“What?!” Thorin snapped turning to face the hobbit and glaring down at him. He expected that Bilbo would cower or stutter and apologize. Instead, the hobbit glared fiercely up at the dwarf, his chin raised defiantly and only his rapid breathing showing how much he hated this conflict.

“You heard me,” Bilbo said, a slight tremor in his voice. “I said that you are a fool. Those men helped you and you promised to repay their kindness. Is that how dwarves repay kindness? With war?”

“You would speak to me in such a manner?!” Thorin roared leaning down. “I am a King! A king who's kingdom is being threatened by brigands who—”

“Even kings can be fools,” Bilbo replied. “As you are proving ever more clearly as this conversation goes on.” In his anger at Bilbo’s words, and that he had _dared_ to criticize his decisions in public, Thorin lifted his hand in preparation to strike him. Bilbo didn’t flinch, though his eyes did fill with tears at the anger burning in Thorin’s eyes.

“There was a time you valued my opinions,” Bilbo said sadly though his eyes remained hard and his posture defiant despite the quaver in his chin. Even after all the times the dwarf had harmed him on accident, he had never imagined that Thorin would even _consider_ hitting him on purpose. Especially not over something so small.

“There was a time your opinions made sense,” Thorin countered lowering his hand at the reminder.

“They still do,” Bilbo insisted knowing that it was not in his best interest to continue to provoke his lover—not with the strange ways he had been behaving lately—but knowing that it needed to be done. “You’re just too blinded by greed and fear to see it!”

“So I’m a blind, _greedy, cowardly_ fool?!” Thorin demanded grabbing Bilbo roughly by the arms and giving the hobbit a firm shake. Bilbo gasped in pain at the feeling of the King’s fingers digging into his arms but did not take back his words. Instead he glared up at his lover all the more fiercely.

“I was not the one that said that, _my King,”_   Bilbo spat sarcasm coloring his words. This time the dwarf heard the sarcasm. Thorin’s expression darkened and his hold—impossibly—tightened even more.

“But you _meant_ it,” Thorin snarled, his face inches from Bilbo’s. "After everything they've done to us, to _me,_ after they chained me like an animal and left me to die, you would take the elves side over mine," he breathed, his words for Bilbo alone, his eyes filling with pain at the thought. Bilbo opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by Balin.

“Of course he didn’t!” Balin promised knowing that they needed to defuse the situation quickly. If Thorin would even _threaten_ to hit Bilbo they needed to separate them before Thorin did irreparable damage to the hobbit. “Bilbo would never say that about you, My King!”

“No, Uncle,” Fíli chimed in knowing that Balin would need help to calm his uncle. He had never seen him behave this way before, even during one of his slips. And if he was being completely honest, it scared him. “He would never. It’s all just a misunderstanding. Isn’t it, Bilbo?”

Bilbo paused a moment. He didn’t want to lie to Thorin, but he also didn’t want to provoke him further. There was a madness there that he did not understand. The dwarf holding him so roughly was not the dwarf he loved, it wasn't even the caged, trapped creature he sometimes became. No. Someone else had taken up residence in his body. It was this that prompted him to say what he did next. Perhaps if he could shock Thorin it would return the dwarf he loved to him.

“Well?” Thorin demanded. “Is this a misunderstanding or have you allied yourself against me?”

“There _is_ a misunderstanding here,” Bilbo said continuing to stare into the blue eyes that were almost unrecognizable in their anger and pain. “That is true enough. But this is not it. If you truly believe that war is better than giving out a bit of gold then I have misunderstood _you_. And if you think I'd betray you then you have misunderstood me. I thought that you were a wise and fair ruler, but now I realize that I may have been mistaken. I thought you trusted me. I must have been mistaken there too. No, there's a deeper misunderstanding here. I misunderstood your character.”

“If you follow this course of action, you will doom us all,” Bilbo continued, his voice level and displaying a calm he didn't feel. “You will prove correct all the rumors about dwarves that I had learned to be false. Every word you have spoken to me in this conversation only proves that you are petty—“

Bilbo’s words were cut off with a cry as Thorin released him and backhanded him across the face hard enough to knock him to the ground. Placing a hand to his face as tears filled his eyes, Bilbo continued to glare up at his lover.

“Silence!” the King hissed. “I will not be spoken to in this manner!”

“And I am not a subject that you can command!” Bilbo snapped from the ground. “And at the moment I have never been prouder of the fact! I had thought that you were noble, one I could call “king” but now . . . now all I can see is a dwarf so consumed with greed and pride that he will allow his own family to bleed and die senselessly for it. I had thought this quest was about reclaiming a home. I misunderstood that as well. Apparently all this was ever about for you was the gold.”

Thorin raised his hand to strike the hobbit again, but was stopped when Fíli and Kíli grabbed his arm.

“Release me,” Thorin commanded glaring at his nephews.

“No, Uncle,” Fíli replied. “This isn’t right and you know it. Let him leave for a bit. Both of you can calm down and then you can continue this discussion. As Bilbo said, this is just a misunderstanding. I’m sure that we can set it right.” Thorin seemed to debate for a moment, his eyes scanning his companions and seeing that they, too, found this distasteful.

“Fine,” he snarled shaking off his nephews and moving to leave. “Get him out of here. I will talk to him once he has regained his senses.” With a final glare at the hobbit, he stalked from the room.

Once he was gone, Bilbo’s shoulders drooped and a sob rose up his throat. He wasn’t made for confrontations like this. Especially not with Thorin. He could feel his body beginning to shake.

“Bilbo?” Kíli asked kneeling in front of the hobbit and placing his hands on his shoulders. “Are you alright?” Bilbo looked at the young dwarf and nodded tearfully.

“I’m f-fine,” he promised around his sniffles. “Just-just a little shook up. I-I’ll be fine.”

“Here, lad,” Balin said gently, kneeling next to Kíli. “Let me look.” Bilbo flinched slightly as Balin gently probed the already puffy skin on his right cheek where Thorin had struck him. It wasn’t really that bad. Nothing was broken. Bilbo would have a nasty bruise for a time, but he would suffer no lasting physical harm. He was lucky. Even in his altered state something within Thorin must have pulled the blow or there would have been far more damage.

“I can’t believe he struck you,” Kíli said glaring darkly in the direction his uncle had gone.

“Neither could I,” Bilbo replied. “I didn’t think he would actually do it. But he needed to hear what I had to say. Maybe it will help.”

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed. “He needed to hear it, but the question is did he listen to what you said?” That was a question that no one could answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I've been sitting on this scene, and many of the scenes that follow since this fic was started :) We've just not gotten to where they can be used. I hope that the wait to get to them was worth it, there is also another chapter in the hole that will be posted as soon as I can manage it :) And if you're interested, I now have a tumblr. My user name there is stickdonkeys as well. I hope that you find it useful. I would really love to hear what you think of this chapter, I'm not very certain that I'm happy with it.  
> Until next time.  
> Stickdonkeys


	44. Conversations and Decisions

Later that night Bilbo was sitting outside the gates of Erebor and looking up at the stars. The cool night air felt good on his bruised cheek. He still couldn’t believe that _Thorin_ had struck him. How had the dwarf that had been such a gentle lover and companion suddenly become so . . . violent? He turned his head at the sound of footsteps on the rubble, expecting to see one of the others bringing him dinner, as he had come out here before it was done. Instead, it was Thorin himself standing there holding a plate of food.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Thorin said, his tone quiet, apologetic. “I heard that you did not come to dinner.”  Bilbo turned his head away from the king. Even though this sounded like his Thorin, he wasn’t sure that he could deal with seeing either personality at the moment. Especially as there was little warning that a change was coming. He wasn't sure his nerves could take it.

“I’m not,” Bilbo replied sharply. “So you can take it back with you.” Thorin flinched at his tone. It was colder than the night air. He knew that he deserved it. After he had left the chamber, the severity of what he had done had struck him. He had actually hit _Bilbo_ over nothing more than a well-deserved insult and that after he'd sworn to himself that nothing would harm his hobbit again. He couldn't believe that he'd done it, but the sight of Thranduil had roused something within him that even he hadn't known was there—not that the reason mattered. What bothered him the most was that he had done it. He had raised his hand to his lover. He'd felt the sting as their flesh had connected, heard his cry as he'd fallen. The very memory of it disgusted him.  

“You should eat,” Thorin said gently, holding the plate as far from himself as he could in hopes that Bilbo would take it. “You will need your strength for what may come.”

“I don’t intend to fight a battle,” Bilbo said still not looking at the king. “And if you insist on doing so I will pack up my things and return home.”

“How will you get there?” Thorin asked wondering if Bilbo would really go through with his threat. Would the hobbit truly leave? Not that he didn't believe that he had the right, after all their contract had been violated and Bilbo was well within his rights to do so. And sane creature would.

“The same way I got here,” Bilbo replied. “On foot.”

“You intend to travel back across Middle Earth . . . on foot . . . with one fourteenth of the gold in Erebor?” Thorin asked incredulously. The mental image of the hobbit carting that much gold on his person—not that he could—as he trudged across the mountains and streams between there and the Shire causing him to smile slightly despite himself.

“I don’t want it,” Bilbo scoffed turning to glare at the King. “I didn’t come on this adventure for gold. I came . . . I don’t even know why I came, but it wasn’t for that.” He almost said that _he_ wasn't the one who had been destitute before the quest but bit that bit back. He could gain nothing from striking where he knew it would hurt. Even after what had just happened, he didn't want to hurt Thorin. Not like that.

“So you don’t want it?” Thorin asked. “What do you want us to do with it? None of us will take what is yours.”

“Give it to Bard,” Bilbo said sarcastically. As the words left his mouth he realized that that was the solution to this situation. If he gave his share of the gold to Bard, his claim would be satisfied and there need be no war. It was perfect.

“That will not happen,” Thorin snarled. Bilbo was being ridiculous! He understood that he was mad, but that level of sarcasm was not called for. It wasn't like he was being entirely unreasonable in refusing to treat with Bard until his armies were gone. That was just good politics.

“Thorin,” Bilbo snapped rounding on the King causing Thorin to flinch at the sight of the purple bruise marring his pale skin. He had caused that. He'd hoped . . . with his hand showing no sign of the blow . . . but of course it wouldn't have with the hobbit being made of softer material than a dwarf. He'd hoped there would be no mark all the same. “You’re being ridiculous!”

“How do you figure that?” Thorin scoffed, his tone harsher than he meant with his shame at marking his mate in such a manner. “Why should I agree to give a portion of the gold that we fought for and _bled_ for to those that did not? What right have they to lay any claim to the gold in Erebor? What right have they to come with _armies_ to demand it?”

“You deny that Bard has a claim?” Bilbo insisted in a quieter voice. “I don’t disagree with you about the Elf King, but _Bard_? Thorin, he was the one that slew Smaug. His entire town was destroyed because _we_ flushed the dragon out of the mountain. He has a claim.”

“Perhaps,” Thorin agreed, his tone one of grudging agreement. “Perhaps he does. And I would have honored it had he not have come to our gates like a thief planning to take what he “deserves” since we were surely dead.”

“He didn’t come like a thief!” Bilbo yelled, exasperated by the stubbornness of the King. He had known dwarves were stubborn, but this seemed excessive even to him, though after what had happened that day nothing would surprise him.

“He brought an army!” Thorin roared causing the hobbit to flinch. “If it was an honest endeavor, why does he have an army?”

Bilbo sighed. “I. . . I don’t know,                Thorin” he finally said his tone defeated. Thorin looked at him triumphantly. He thought that he would win this battle. “I do know that you _owe_ him. And I know you well enough to know you do not like to be indebted to anyone.”

“I owe him _nothing,_ ” Thorin snarled. “That _Man_ has no claim to the gold of the dwarves. It was mined and forged by dwarves and it will remain with dwarves.” When he finished speaking he turned to leave, casting a final disdainful look at Bilbo. He loved him, but this was a matter in which Bilbo was not qualified to speak. When he wanted someone to tell him which flowers to grow or what herb to use he would consult the hobbit. This was a matter of the state, of which Bilbo knew nothing. He stopped, and his anger faded at the quiet, tear-filled voice behind him.

“And what of me?” Bilbo asked.

“What?” Thorin asked turning to face the hobbit, the hurt on his face piercing the King to the bone. No knife wound had ever hurt him so much.

“What of me?” Bilbo repeated, anger making his voice harsh. “I’m not a dwarf. Do I have no claim either? ‘Cause I seem to remember signing a contract that gave me a fourteenth’s share of the treasure. Is that claim no good?”

“Of course it is still good,” Thorin replied confused at the sudden mood swing. He knew that Bilbo was no dwarf. What had caused this? “I told you as much not five minutes ago. None will deprive you of what is yours.”

“Really?” Bilbo asked angrily. “I was worried. I didn’t know if you would honor that debt since “dwarven gold should stay with dwarves.” At his words understanding dawned in Thorin’s eyes. He hadn’t meant it that way. He hadn’t thought Bilbo would take it that way either. He thought that the hobbit knew how much he meant to him. _Striking him was a rather funny way of showing it_ , his conscience whispered.

“I didn’t mean that,” Thorin said his voice filled with regret both for what he had said and for what he had done. “Not about you. You are a member of this Company. You have earned it. I would _never_ seek to deprive you of what you have earned.”

“Good,” Bilbo replied. “And I may do with my share what I wish?”

“Of course,” Thorin replied wondering where Bilbo was going with this. It was his reward, what he did with it was none of his concern.

“I thought as much,” Bilbo said, a shockingly smug look on his face. “I know what I would like to do with it.”

“Really?” Thorin asked, a smile on his face. He had thought that Bilbo didn’t care about the gold. That he was making plans for it was a pleasant surprise, even if his smile was unnerving.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied his smile fading and his eyes growing hard. “I want you to give it to Bard.” He ignored the protests of the King and spoke over him. “You said that I can do what I will with it and that is what I want to. I will give my reward to save your foolish neck. I have no interest in the gold and it is not worth a war. Give my share to them and send them on their way.”

“No,” Thorin replied. “I will _not_ do that.”

“Then you’ll deny me my reward?” Bilbo asked. He knew that he had caught the King in a technicality. There was no way that Thorin could refuse and still keep his word, and Thorin _never_ broke his word.

“No,” Thorin said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Bard hasn’t asked for an entire fourteenth. You can still keep a portion of your reward.”

“Fine,” Bilbo nodded. “I’ll keep the extra.”

“What of Tharanduil?” Thorin asked, his voice hard as he remembered the indignities he had suffered at the hands of the Elf King.

“Hang him,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “As I said, I don’t see where we owe him anything. If anything he owes us. If Bard wants to share with him, he can. I see no need to give him anything, except perhaps a piece of my mind. Despite what you said earlier, I still haven't forgiven him for chaining you or imprisoning you and the others.” At his words Thorin laughed humorlessly and moved to sit next to the hobbit, the plate of food still in his hands. He was pleased when Bilbo did not move away from him.

“I’m glad that you feel that way,” Thorin said with a sad smile. “At least we can agree on that.” The dwarf took a deep breath and reached over to gently stroke Bilbo’s bruised cheek, his finger stopping just short of touching it. The hobbit looked at him and saw such sadness and regret in his blue eyes that it took his breath away.

“Bilbo, I . . . I am _so_ sorry about what I did to you earlier,” Thorin said. “I should never have struck you. I am a fool. I know I have no right to ask for it, but I sincerely beg you for your pardon.”

“You are a fool,” Bilbo agreed. Thorin’s face fell at the pronouncement. He had known that Bilbo would never forgive him.

“But,” Bilbo continued. “You are _my_ fool. And for some reason that even I don’t understand, I love you still. But I swear, if you _ever_ strike me again, I don’t care if you _are_ a king, you _will_ regret it.”

“And I swear to you that it will never happen again,” Thorin promised. Rather than say anything Bilbo leaned his head against Thorin’s shoulder before he flinched and repositioned himself so that his bruise was not in contact with the dwarf. The dwarf in question flinched at the same time. And once Bilbo had found a comfortable position rested his chin in the curly hair atop his lover’s head. For a time they sat together in silence watching the stars and wondering what dawn would bring.


	45. Concessions and Uncomfortable Questions

As expected, dawn brought the return of Bard and the Elf King. They came with banner and fanfare that would have alerted the dwarves of their presence even had they not been keeping watch. As it was, however, their guards had seen the approaching envoy long before they were within range of speech with men. The events of the day before had served one purpose, Thorin had come to see reason, at least as far as Bilbo's presence was concerned. He had insisted that the hobbit wear his Ring. Bilbo had thought that it was unnecessary but had conceded to Thorin's request.

So that day he was standing beside his lover and felt him stiffen as the Elf King crested the rise.

"He can't touch you," Bilbo murmured, taking Thorin's larger hand in his own. "You're safe. You'll never be in a dungeon again." Despite Bilbo's words, at the sight of Thranduil the cloth bandages around his wrists suddenly felt far too tight and heavy. He could almost swear that when he raised his hands he could hear the clink of chains once more. He wanted to curl in on himself, knowing that what he felt was not truly there to matter how real it felt, but he forced down the impulse and stood tall, thankful that the distance between the two groups might mask the fear he could feel in his own eyes.

As soon as they were within earshot, Thorin raised his voice hailing the approaching group.

"So," he called, thankful that his voice came out strongly and sounded condescending rather than haunted. "You come to my gates once more with the . . . _elf_."

"Of course I do," Bard replied. "You made it abundantly clear that you would offer us no aid yesterday. I must keep the allies that I have."

"Thranduil is a terrible ally," Thorin replied. "Once he was Erebor's ally as well. He left us to burn and starve and then imprisoned us when we came to claim what was ours. What proof do you have that he will treat you differently?"

"None," Bard answered while Thranduil scoffed at Thorin's allegations. "But _he_ wasn't the one that brought the dragon down on our head, O _King Under the Mountain._ "  The title was just this side of spat out.

"That is true," Thorin admitted sadly. "We were the ones that chased the dragon from the mountain and into your town. And for this and for your hospitality we do we you. It is with this in mind, and through a dislike of abandoning refugees that I offer you the opportunity to winter your people within the walls of the mountain. On the condition that you send away the elf."

"And what of _after_ winter, Thorin," Bard demanded. "What will we do when the snows melt? Will we be cast out of the mountain and left with nothing? That is why I _need_ the gold. Dale or Esgaroth _must_ be rebuilt and we will need funds to purchase food until we can grow it. _That_  is why I cannot do as you ask where the Elf King is concerned. He offers us trade. What do _you_ offer, Thorin Oakenshield?"

"I . . . I offer you one sixteenth of the gold within the mountain," Thorin said, the very words seeming to grate his throat as they passed. "Courtesy of my mate, BIlbo Baggins. He is willing to pay what you are owed out of his fourteenth."

"And what of my claim?" Thranduil asked.

"You have no claim," Thorin replied coldly.

"I assure you, I do," Thranduil replied. "Not only from you but from your grandfather of old."

"You lost any claim you had on Thror when you refused to aid his people," Thorin ground out, livid that that _creature_ would dare speak his grandfather's name. "And you have never had a claim on me. Never have we entered into any agreement."

"What of the supplies you and your men consumed while you were our guests?" Thranduil asked. Well, this last question was too much for poor Bilbo. Though he knew that he shouldn't, he pulled the Ring from his finger and stood on his toes to see over the wall, fixing the Elf King with the glare he reserved for Lobelia when she attempted to steal his silver or the butcher if he attempted to cheat one of the less educated hobbits.

"Guests?!" he snapped. "You dare to _imprison_ them and call them _guests_? Clearly that word means something entirely different in the Shire. Forgive me if I am less cultured in the ways of the wise and have never _chained_ my guests in the dark and fed them irregularly."

"And you are?" the elf asked, raising one eyebrow and wondering not only who but _what_ the strange creature that dared to speak to him so was.

"Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire," Bilbo replied pointedly leaving out the part where he was at the elf's service.

"Thorin's mate," Thanduil snorted. "And judging by the mark on your face, you know precisely why I had to chain him. Funny, Thorin, I didn't know that dwarves ever laid hands on their mates."  Thorin and Bilbo has opposite reactions to these words, the dwarf going pale below his dark beard at being confronted once more with the severity of what he had done and Bilbo going red in embarrassment at their private domestic squabble being made so public.

"Well . . . I . . . that is," Bilbo stuttered trying to think of a way to explain his bruise while not giving away just how fragile Thorin's state of mind was at the moment to one who was undoubtedly an enemy. It didn't matter, however because there was truly nothing he could say to salvage that situation, and the smirk on Thranduil's face showed that he knew it.

"Is that bruise the reason my claim is not being honored, perhaps?" Thranduil asked. "I have heard that hobbits are fair creatures."

"No," Bilbo snarled, and expression on his face that none of the dwarves had ever seen there before, or in all honesty ever hoped to see again, as he grabbed Thorin's arm and raised it before pulling back the dwarf's sleeve and ripping off the bandages, revealing the livid scabs that stood out there. " _These_ marks are the reason you will never receive anything from us. And hobbits are fair creatures, and peaceable until riled. And let me tell you something _your majesty_ , you have riled _this_ hobbit."

"Tell me this, _halfling,_ " Thranduil replied, his tone revealing that he knew the moniker to be a non-preferred title, "are you riled enough for war? Refusal of my terms will result in nothing less. Can Erebor truly afford to be at odds with the neighbor who controls the route to the west? It would be a shame if all the dwarves that came through my woods had to be seen as spies." Bilbo was speechless at the threat. Was Thranduil really attempting to extort gold for safe passage of the refugees returning to Erebor? Everyone seemed equally shocked at these words, shock was soon followed by anger, however, and soon insults were flying from the battlements. The only ones not participating were Thorin—to whom this was no shock, but rather a reaffirmation of what he had previously known—and Bard, who was standing beside the Elf King with an openly shocked expression. Eventually Thorin had enough and raised his hand. It took a moment but the company fell silent, though their glares did not lessen.

"You've heard where he stands, Bard," Thorin said quietly. "I know you to be an honorable man, willing to help those in need, for a price at least. Do you still ally yourself with him? Will you go to war with us over a claim that is neither yours nor just or will you do what is right by your people? Make your decision. The gates of Erebor remain open if you desire it."

Bard closed his eyes. This was the exact reason he had never sought the position his blood afforded him. He hated to make such decisions. The elves of Mirkwood had been good to the people of Lake Town, to side with Thorin now would break that alliance and put him in no better place than the dwarves but to side with someone who would extort gold at such a cost . . . he couldn't fault the Elf King for the initial imprisonment, to hear Thranduil tell it, the dwarves had attacked his people during their feasts and then refused to explain why they were in the wood in the first place. No, any leader would have jailed such trespassers, though the chaining of the dwarf King did make him uncomfortable, even if the bruise on his mate's face, which he hadn't denied had come from the dwarf, gave hint as to a loose hold on a temper. It all came down to one question: who was a better ally, one who would stoop to such low tactics for a bit of wealth when they were not in dire need, or one who would raise a hand to one he professed to love?

"May I have tonight to decide?" Bard asked, feeling decades older than he had before he had come to the gate that day.

"Of course," Thorin nodded, his eyes showing he understood the difficulty of the decision he placed at the man's feet. And he did, he had had to make difficult calls as a king and almost pitied that Bard would have to learn the art. "My offer will still stand in the morning. We will await your decision."

Thranduil seemed less pleased with the man's desire to weigh the decision, hoping that Bard would have sided with him instantly out of old allegiances, but he too nodded his agreement and went back to their encampment.

"Send ravens to Dáin," Thorin ordered, never taking his eyes off the retreating elves. "We may have need of reinforcements before this is over."

"War?" Bilbo asked quietly, his stomach sloshing uncomfortably at the thought now that some of his rage had returned to a dull ember rather than the raging inferno it had been.

"If that's what it takes," Thorin replied sadly. He did not want a war either. He had seen far too many of them in his long life and had seen the cost on all sides. "We cannot cave to his demands under such a threat, and we cannot allow such a threat to go unanswered. We must have safe passage to the west."

"Hopefully Mahal can help Bard can talk sense into the Elf," Balin whispered. While Thorin hoped for such an outcome, he knew better than to rely on in. Thranduil would not back down, not now. He could only hope that Bard would come down on their side and Dáin's travel was swift. With enough of a force they could, perhaps, end this conflict without it coming to bloodshed.  Even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that it was the idealistic hope of a dwarfling, not the logic of a king. There was no way around it. Whether he willed it or not, the dwarves of Erebor were at war.

 


	46. Bard's Decision and Moving On

Once more, dawn came to the Lonely Mountain and with it brought a grim-faced Bard. Unlike the days before, this day he came alone. Even from atop the gate they could see the lines of fatigue in his face. It was clear to them all that he had not slept the night before.

"Thorin," he called, his voice thin and barely audible over the wind. "May I come up. I'm afraid I do not have it in me to yell up the wall this day." Thorin nodded to Glóin and Dwalin who lowered the ladder to the man.  Bard nodded his thanks and began removing his weapons and laying them on the ground at his feet.

"Leave them," Thorin said, shocking them all. "You come to speak of allegiances. It does not go well for one party to be armed while the other is not. Power imbalances make for uneven negotiations as you saw yesterday." Bard nodded and climbed the ladder, his grim expression never shifting.

"You have come to a decision," Thorin said, reading the answer in the Man's face. Even without Bard speaking he knew that his hopes of superior forces has been crushed. The King of Men had decided to ally himself with the elves.

"I have," Bard replied taking a deep breath to tell the dwarves what he had decided, knowing that his answer would not be well received.

"Before you speak, may I ask why you chose Thranduil?" Thorin asked softly. He briefly smiled at the shock that flitted across Bard's face before it was once more schooled into an impassive mask.

"Esgaroth cannot go without trade," Bard said sadly. "The gold that you have offered will go a long way to rebuilding the town but without Mirkwood we would still starve this winter. All of our seed was stored in the town and burned along with it. There is no reason however, that we cannot still trade. I will not go to war with you over gold that was neither promised nor owed. If I remain on good terms with the elves I can also help to feed Erebor until such a time as you are self-sustaining."

"You're far more shrewd than I gave you credit for, Master Bard," Thorin replied with a smile.  "Tell me, how do you think Thranduil will react when he learns that you take what you trade from him and then trade it with us?"

"I don't suppose he will appreciate it," Bard shrugged. "However, hopefully by then we will also be self-sufficient and will not need his aid. I must admit that his tactics are . . . they do not sit well with me but I cannot risk making him an enemy. I have children to think of, Thorin. Not only mine but those of my people as well. I am sorry."

"Don't be," Thorin replied. "You are making the decisions required of a king. I would do the same in your position. There is no way that I can do the same at this time, however. I thank you for not going to war with him. I will not forget that kindness." Bard nodded and began to make his way back down the ladder.

"Bard," Thorin called. "If you wish, to thank you for refusing to join Thranduil in war, your women and children are still welcome to shelter within the mountain. I know the pain of losing small ones to the cruelties of winter. I would not wish it on another. And I can promise you, the mountain will not fall. Thranduil is many things; a dragon is not one of them."

"Thank you," Bard replied. "I will consider your offer."  Thorin nodded and watched as the man walked away back towards his shared camp with the elves. It was only once Bard was out of sight that Thorin sighed and allowed his shoulders to slump. Never before had he felt his age as surely as he did in that moment. True, 195 was not _old_ , but he couldn't deny that he was no youngling any more. A lifetime of hard decisions was also hard to ignore. And, though some part of him had hoped that all such decisions would disappear once they had the mountain—an idea the rest of him knew was foolish, he remembered the mountains of paperwork and endless hours of open chambers for the pleas of the people—it seemed that reclaiming the mountain had come with problems of its own. Not just the structures that had been damaged, but now this. He could see no way that they could come to a solution that would allow his people passage through Mirkwood. It meant that their trek home would be that much more difficult as they circumvented the forest to the south. Or perhaps to the north. True, such a path took them too close to Grundabad, but at least the trip was shorter and there was no marsh to contend with. Once again the thought crossed his mind that his people were cursed to nothing but misfortune. Nothing else could explain all of their hardships.

"So what do we do now?" Kíli asked quietly, looking at Thorin with such innocent brown eyes that it pained him.

"We wait, lad," Thorin replied placing a gentle hand on the side of his head.

"What are we waiting for, Uncle?" Fíli asked, skilled though he was, he was also too young for what would inevetibly follow. Thorin sighed and placed a kiss to his eldest nephew's brow.

"A catalyst," Balin offered when Thorin took too long to answer the question.

"No," Thorin corrected looking around at all of them and wondering just who he would lose before it was over, his gaze pointedly not falling on Bilbo or his nephews as he refused to even consider that posibility. "There is no need to mince words here. We wait for war. And we'll not wait idly. Bofur, Dori, Bifur, refortify these gates. They must withstand siege until Dáin can arrive. Balin, show Bombur to the kitchens and see if there is anything that can be salvaged; the cram will only last so long. Nori, I want you to explore the mountain, if there are any passages that can be used for or against us I want to know of them. Dwalin, Óin and Kíli, keep watch. Glóin, Fíli, Bilbo and I will continue restoration efforts and begin to sort out Bard's gold so that once this is done we will have a place for our people."

"And me?" Ori asked softly, worried that he had been deemed useless. "What task would you set for me, My King?"

"You, Ori, have a special task," Thorin said placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "I am going to show you to the great library. I want you to look over the papers from my grandfather's reign and see if the debt Thranduil claims is owed is recorded."

"And if it is?" Ori asked, wondering what Thorin would have him do. It went against everything in him to burn another scribe's work but he would if he was asked. After all, Thranduil was owed nothing.

"If you find evidence of it," Thorin said slowly, the words feeling as though they were pulling bits of his soul with them, "if there's evidence . . . then I will pay what he is owed. I would keep us from war if at all possible. If there is a debt it will be paid."

"Come, Ori," Thorin said gesturing before him. The younger dwarf nodded and moved to lead before he remembered that he had no idea where they were going and looked back in curiosity. "I'll direct you," Thorin said with a small laugh. As they set off down the hallway into Erebor, Thorin was not at all surprised to feel a small hand entwine with his own.

"Is it wrong of me to hope that if such a record ever existed it was burned by Smaug?" Bilbo asked, his nose wrinkling up in distaste at the idea of having to pay the elf.

"No," Thorin replied, a small chuckle passing his throat as he though on the change in his mate. This was the same hobbit who had gawked at the elves of Rivendell like a dwarfling allowed out of the house for the first time. Thoughts of what had caused the change caused Thorin to pull aside his sleeve with the hand that was not captured in Bilbo's, his fingers tracing over the ridges and knowing from how they felt that they would scar. Bilbo used his hold to flip Thorin's arm, which the dwarf allowed, and placed a soft kiss over the veins on the inside of his wrist.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo offered. "About the other day. I was just so mad and didn't think that you wouldn't want these on display for the world to see. While we're sorting out Bard's gold we could try to find you something to cover them, if you'd like."

"Left here, Ori," Thorin called, hating how strangled his voice sounded at the idea of something around his wrists. "No," his said, his voice hoarse. "I will _never_ have metal around my wrists again, precious or otherwise. I just  . . . thank you, Bilbo, but no."

Though it had been brief, for a moment Thorin was once more the caged creature he occasionally became and this time Bilbo had no illusions that Thorin would not hurt him. The twinge in his cheek with every expression told him otherwise. And, as much as it pained him, in that brief moment he had feared what Thorin would do. And even once it passed, there was a tension in his shoulders that refused to pass.

Feeling the rigidity of the hobbit beside him, Thorin turned to glance at him. Though it was only a trace, there was a wariness in BIlbo's green eyes that pierced his very soul. More so because it was deserved. He had hurt his mate; Bilbo was right to be wary of him.

"Bilbo," Thorin sighed, pulling the stiff form of the hobbit against his chest and resting his cheek against the downy curls on his head. "I'm sorry you fear me. It never should have been so. Not if I was a better dwarf and a better mate. If I live to be three hundred I will spend every day attempting to make it up to you."

"I don't fear _this_ you," Bilbo answered honestly, relaxing in and returning Thorin's embrace while listening to the dwarf's heart beat below his ear. 

"It's all me, _Gishavel_ ," Thorin replied sadly. "Everything you fear, it's in here. _I_ was the one that struck you. It was my hand that drew your blood, even if it remained under the skin. You are right to fear me." Bilbo sighed and wished that he could disagree but he couldn't bring himself to lie to Thorin. Not about this. They only pulled apart when Ori pointedly cleared his throat.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "But there are five passages here. Which way do we go?" Thorin blinked and seemed to just realize they had an audience.

"Second left," he said, feeling his face heat a bit at being overhead in such an intimate moment.

Ori nodded and set off down the designated hall wondering why if the others were ever privy to such awkwardness or if he was the only one cursed to endure these moments with his king and the hobbit. This time he was certain that they couldn't have made it more uncomfortable to be with them if they'd just taken to having a shag against the wall.

 


	47. Consequences and Remnants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the end of this one may be cruel to heartstrings :(

There was no sign of the elves  or Bard for the rest of that day or the next and Dáin had sent word that he and his forces were less than two days march from Erebor. Just as the dwarves had begun to hope that Dáin's intervention would be unnecessary, a single elf appeared over the rise with a banner of truce in his hands.  Word was sent for Thorin and the remaining dwarves on the wall glared down at the elf, who waited with a calm stillness that was unearthly given that he was in the company of people who clearly wished him ill. Though it seemed forever to those waiting, it was only moments later that Thorin arrived on the wall, Bilbo in tow.

"Where is your king?" Thorin demanded with no greeting for the elf before him.

"He is preparing our army," the elf answered simply. "If you are still unwilling to meet his demands, we declare war."

"And why did Thranduil not deliver this message himself?" Thorin asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from one of the elf-king's own.

"He feared for his life were he to deliver the declaration of war himself," the elf replied, verifying the dwarf's belief.

"So he sent you?" Thorin asked, knowing his words to be cruel but not caring to hurt the elf. "Did he not deem you important enough that your life would be a loss to his cause?" 

"No," the elf replied with a snort. "I volunteered. I was not sent." Thorin scoffed, he didn't believe for a moment that an elf would have volunteered to deliver a message of war to them. While he would never kill anyone under a banner of truce, he doubted that the elves would trust him to honor it. He knew he wouldn't trust Thranduil to.

"Go back to your king," Thorin spat. "Tell him that he will receive nothing from us as we have found nothing in the records to substantiate his claim that he was owed gold by my grandfather. If it is a war that Thranduil wants then we will have war."

"IF that is your answer," the elf replied, turning his back on them and walking away. Thorin growled at the nerve! Even if he didn't think they would betray a flag of truce, it was insulting for him to turn his back, suggesting that he had no fear of the dwarves and that they would be ineffective combatants.

"Kíli," Thorin muttered. "Can you put an arrow in the banner, just above his hand. Close enough to scare him but not enough to draw blood?"

"Yes, Uncle," Kíli replied. "but why?"

"To show him that he's a fool to turn his back on dwarves when he's at war with them," Thorin replied coldly.

"Then why only scare him?" Kíli asked.

"Because I won't dishonor us by killing or maiming a messenger under banner of truce," Thorin said firmly. "He will live, for now. Draw an arrow." Kíli nodded and drew an arrow. As he knocked it to the string he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. While he had no doubt he could make the shot the stakes were high. Exhaling slowly, he raised the bow and drew it back, holding his breath and sighting it in. As soon as he had his target he released it, smiling to himself as he heard the satisfying thunk of an arrow sinking into wood.

"You missed," the elf called back, not turning his head.

"You weren't my target," Kíli replied smoothly. At those words the elf looked more closely at the strike point and saw that the arrow had sunk directly into the center of the antlered crest of the Woodland Realm. The implication was clear; the dwarves planned to strike the heart of the kingdom. Despite himself, the elf allowed a shuddering breath to escape his lips. He hadn't known dwarves to be such good archers. Perhaps his father _had_ made a mistake in declaring war.

**ooOO88OOoo**

With the war now officially declared, the dwarves redoubled their preparation efforts. One of the first courses of action was to find the armory. It would not do for them to attempt war with weapons not designed to be wielded by dwarves. Also, the company would need armor. Thorin had found something special for Bilbo, but the rest . . . they needed protected as well. Especially Fíli and Kíli. It took some doing, but eventually the path was clear.

Much like with the other small rooms, this one had been untouched by the wrath of the dragon. Not only was the door too small for him to have fit through, but inside was nothing but iron. Iron and bones.

At the sight of the bones, Thorin froze. Not that he hadn't expected to find bones somewhere within the mountain but to see them now, on the precipice of battle . . . he took it as a bad omen.

"We'll give them a proper burial," Balin said laying a hand on his cousin's arm. "In stone. As it should be."

"We don't know their names," Dori said. "How can we bury them without names?"

"How can we bury our dead without stone?" Dwalin snapped. "We've done worse. These poor bones deserve to be interred. Names or no."

"We could collect all the dead," Glóin offered. "Bury them together in the catacombs and dedicate the grave to all who died nameless when Erebor fell."

"Not the catacombs," Thorin said softly. "The main hall."

"Thorin?" Balin asked wondering what his cousin was thinking. Dead were not put in public places, it would be too hard for those that returned to be confronted with day after day.

"The main hall," Thorin repeated. "We will build them a tomb to rival a king's. These were mothers, fathers, children, cousins. Some of them still may have living relatives. We will not push their memory into the catacombs. They deserved better than the death they suffered. And if we cannot honor them by name preserving their memory is the least we can do as I would see them honored."

"Aye, laddie," Balin agreed, the sentiment making sense now that Thorin had explained it. "The main hall it is." What went unsaid was that it was possible that one of these sets of remains was Thorin's mother. She hadn't made it out the day the mountain fell. If she had to be buried in a mass grave, it made sense that he would want it in a place of honor.

"Move the bones aside," Thorin said. "I will not have us stepping over them." The dwarves and the hobbit of the lonely mountain nodded and began the silent task of moving the bones gently to a pile along the wall. As grim as the task was, they were doing well until they came to a large pile of bones in the far edge of the room.

BIlbo and Dwalin had been working together on it. The large warrior had just lifted an arm-load of the bones to move to the other pile when Bilbo gave a sudden cry and bent to retrieve something. Rather than move towards the pile, Bilbo pulled it towards him and seemed to curl around it. As odd as that behavior was, it was the sobs that followed that drew the attention of the entire company.

"Bilbo?" Bofur asked coming forward and placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "What did you find, lad?" The pure sorrow in his eyes as he looked up pierced them all. In his arms, he held a charred cloth bundle. Without seeing it, they knew exactly what it was, but Bilbo spoke all the same.

"A babe," he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks as he held the bundle to his chest. "This was a babe."

 Though Thorin had spoken of children, and they all knew that children had to have perished, knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The tiny skull barely filled Bilbo's palm. There were more than a few tears shed by more than one member of the company as they stood looking at the hobbit clutching the bundle. Eventually Dwalin could take it no more.

"Give it here, lad," he ordered holding his hands out. "We can't sit here all day. I'll but the babe with its mother."

"Her," Bilbo said.

"What?" Dwalin asked, wondering who the hobbit was referring to.

"The babe," Bilbo said. "She was a her, not an it."

"How do you know that, laddie?" Glóin demanded, the idea that they had lost not only a babe but a female one, making his stomach twist. Bilbo reached into the bundle and pulled the shoulder of what was a decidedly frilly little dress out, releasing it as the fabric tried to come apart in his fingers.

"I will place _her_ with her mother, then," Dwalin offered. holding out his arms and taking the bundle. As he placed it gently next to the bones that had also come from the pile, he whispered an old prayer in Khuzdul for safe passage into the next world. It was a battlefield prayer, but he felt he had to say something.

Though it pained them to see it, as they continued to pile bones against the wall none of them covered the bundle that contained the bones of the tiny dwarf child. Somehow it felt wrong to place the bones of an adult on top of the babe, dead or not. They also secretly agreed that she and her mother would be the last into the tomb.

 


	48. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter I've uploaded today so if you just went to the last chapter of the work you may need to hit the little back button and see what happened.

Though it seemed an eternity, eventually their grim task was done and they set to the task they had originally come to accomplish. In an armory designed for and by dwarves, it took no time to find armor to fit all of the company, save one Bilbo Baggins. Though he had hoped it would not be the case, there was no armor that would fit the hobbit. Even armor for children was not shaped appropriately to be comfortable, being too broad through the chest and not broad enough in the waist.

"It's fine, Thorin," Bilbo promised, the idea of being encased in armor distasteful to him. Somehow seeing everyone being fitted made the situation all the more real. Far too real. They were at war. It was possible, probable even, that before it was all done those bones would not be the only ones requiring a burial.

"I have the Ring," the hobbit continued. "They can't kill me if they can't see me." Thorin snorted that Bilbo thought it was that simple. Once more he hated himself for taking such a soft creature from his home. Not that Bilbo hadn't proved useful, even essential, more than once but if he truly believed that in a full-scale battle being invisible would keep him from harm . . . he had no business in a war.

"Stray strokes and arrows can still find you," Thorin countered. "Or does the Ring make you impervious as well as invisible."

"Well, no," Bilbo began before he started attempting to think of a way that he would be protected without armor or being left behind.

"I have a gift for you," Thorin said, his blue eyes wary. "If you will consent to have it. I will force nothing on you, not even protection. If you believe that you can survive the battle in naught but your coat I will trust your judgment."

"There's no armor to fit me," Bilbo argued. "It's not like you have the time or materials to—"

"There is this," Thorin said pulling a bundle from his pocket. There was a delicate tinkling as he unfolded it, revealing bright blue-white metal rings with diamonds at the throat and a belt of the same.

"It's beautiful," Bilbo said reaching out to touch it, expecting the metal to be cool and rigid but the rings were warm from Thorin's body and a supple as cloth beneath his hand. "Where did you find this?"

"The treasury," the dwarf replied. "While I was searching for the Arkenstone I found this. It's made of mithril. Nothing can pierce it. Will you consent to wear it?"

"Mithril?" Balin said coming forward and staring at the bright rings. "I wasn't aware there was so much of it. Not since Khazad-dum fell. There is nothing in the world that will protect you better, Bilbo. It's as hard as Smaug's armor was. A kingly gift."

"I can't accept this, Thorin," Bilbo sighed. "It's too much. If it is as rare as Balin says it is, then there is not enough left of my share for me to claim it."

"It's far less than you are owed, Bilbo," Thorin said honestly. "I am so far indebted to you beyond our original contract that it is hardly relevant if your share of the treasure would cover the armor. It is a gift." Seeing that Bilbo was about to argue once more, Thorin gently covered his mouth and leaned in to whisper, "If you will not accept it as a gift from a king to his burglar, then accept it as a gift from one mate to another as a token of apology and intent."

"I don't need precious metals as an apology," Bilbo reminded him. "Nor as a bribe to remain by your side."

"That's why you deserve them, _Gishavel,_ " Thorin murmured into his hair. "Please, take it and protect yourself. I know better than to ask you not to come. So instead I ask that you do so as safely as possible."

"I'll look foolish in it," Bilbo said trying a different tactic, unable to say no to such a statement from Thorin. He had expected demands that he remain behind if he wouldn't wear it, not a plea that he do it since there was nothing the dwarf could do to stop him from coming.

"Wear it under your clothes," Thorin suggested with a shrug. "It can be your secret hidden beneath a plain exterior, just like your stubbornness." Bilbo found that he had no argument against that and nodded, excepting the metal material from his lover, marveling despite himself at the beauty of it.

"Thank you," he whispered looking up at Thorin with a small smile. The dwarf did not reply, but nodded his head with a small smile of his own.

"I have a present of my own for you," Bilbo said, stroking his fingers over the rings once more. For Thorin to give him something so precious and beautiful . . . he suddenly felt terribly guilty for the gem he had hidden in his pack, intending to keep it for himself for its beauty.

"Oh?" Thorin asked, quirking an eyebrow as he helped to tighten a buckle on Kíli's armor to fit his slighter frame.

"Yes," Bilbo said. "True it may already be yours in a way as I found it in the treasury yesterday as well, but I will gift it to you all the same. It's with my things but I can give it to you this evening if you'd like."

"This evening," Thorin agreed, returning to his task, curiosity burning in the back of his mind as to what Bilbo may have found.

**ooOO88OOoo**

That night, they built a fire in the middle of the great hall. They were all present. Foolish thought it was, they couldn't stand the thought of placing a watch and forcing those two to miss what would be the last night they would all be together. Fíli and Kíli has found instruments somewhere and presented Thorin with a beautiful golden harp, which, after admiring, Thorin moved to set aside.

"Will you play, Uncle?" Fíli asked softly. Thorin paused a moment at the request. While it was true that in Bilbo's home he had said that he would not play again until he was within his own halls, and he now was, they were  not yet truly his and may never be. It was that last melancholy thought that decided him. With a slow nod he lifted the harp, fingers lightly strumming the strings to check their tune. It was a testament to the craftsmanship that they still held true after all these years.

Taking a final deep breath, he began playing, his fingers picking out a mournful melody. He knew that their return to the mountain should be a cause for celebration, merry-making, feasting, but in light of all the destruction they had found, the losses that may still occur, he could not bring himself to play in celebration. He closed his eyes as he heard the voices of the company swelling up to join his own, allowing their fear and sorrow to well from them in song and create something beautiful from their pain. As the swell of that song died, he moved seamlessly into another, Dwalin joining him on a viola he had found, the middle range weaving through their deeper tones as they sang for all the lives lost and yet to be lost.

For his part, Bilbo could do nothing but listen. Much as they had the night before Mirkwood, the dwarves were singing in their own language, the hard consonants somehow remaining musical in their mouths. Not even knowing what it was they sung of, he could still feel tears springing to his eyes as the depth of pain present in the music. Painful though it was, Bilbo was once more struck by the beauty and mastery of dwarven singing, even more so now that there were instruments to accompany them. At the next lull, Bilbo could not resist raising his own voice in song. He had no songs for such circumstances, but he sang all the same, one that had been in the back of his mind ever since he had first heard the dwarves sing in his home. 

It only took a moment for the dwarves to pick up the tune, Thorin recognizing the it as a  modification of the one they had sung in Bag End all those months ago and joining in once more with both his voice, humming to harmonize with his hobbit, and his harp. While it still had the mournful quality of the original, Bilbo's version had a thread of hope that shined through. And when the hobbit locked eyes with him over the fire, his high tenor ringing out clearly, Thorin was struck once by fond feelings for his mate. As the final note faded, it left a smile with it.

"You modified our song," Thorin murmured.

"I . . . I did," Bilbo said, looking away from the intensity in the dwarf's blue gaze.

"Why?" Thorin asked,

"The original . . . it left an impression on me, Thorin," Bilbo said honestly. "It awoke something . . . _Tookish_ in me. From the moment you lot sang in my den there was no doubt in my mind that I would follow you. It has been on my mind and this was the result. I hope you're not angry that I modified one of your people's songs."

"No," Thorin replied softly. "It was beautiful. Was that your gift for me? A song?"

"Oh, no," Bilbo said, suddenly shooting to his feet and going to his pack. "The song was a spur of the moment thing. This is what I have for you." Thorin looked at the cloth-wrapped lump in Bilbo's hands in confusion. As he took it, the cloth shifted and it seemed a light shone from within the bundle. He felt his heart stop as he suddenly knew what he held in his hands. A hundred years had not dulled his memory of it. Needing to know for certain, he unwrapped the bundle, the inner light of the gem casting shadows even within the ring of firelight.

"Bilbo," he breathed, looking up at the hobbit, his face a mask of shock, "do you have any idea what this is?"

"Should I?" the hobbit replied, however before Thorin could answer, Balin was there sweeping the hobbit into a bone-crushing hug that lifted him from the ground.

"Oh you _beautiful_ creature!" Balin cried swinging him around before placing him on his feet once more and placing a hand over his ears. "I could _kiss_ you!" And then, shocking them all, he did just that, placing a firm kiss to Bilbo's forehead before releasing him into the arms and pats of the others.

"Why?" Bilbo asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the sudden outpouring of affection from his companions and looking to Thorin hoping that there would be no jealousy stirring in his blue eyes. "What is it? Thorin, what did I do?"

" You've done it, Bilbo Baggins," the King replied, his awe at the situation still present in his voice. " You found the Arkenstone,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that are curious what Bilbo sang, it has been a bit of a headcannon of mine for a while that "Song of the Lonely Mountain" by Neil Finn would be Bilbo's version of the dwarves song. Strange, but what can I say, so am I.


	49. The Battle Rages On

The next morning, the elation within the mountain over the discovery of the Arkenstone was still thrumming through them all. Following its reveal, they had truly begun to celebrate their retaking of the mountain, even Thorin was in a celebratory mood. Sadly, their good mood was not to last. Once more, the first light of day brought with it fanfare and banners of truce. Only, this day there were four figures at the gates.

Two of the figures were both well-known and welcome, Bard and Dáin, but one of them was unknown, an old man, stooped and cloaked, and the fourth was most unwelcome, even under a flag of truce—Thranduil.

"What business have you here, Thranduil?" Thorin demanded. "And under a flag of truce no less, after you declared war over unfounded claims."

"Neither my claims, which are founded in fact, nor my declaration of war have anything to do with my presence at your gates, Thorin," Thranduil answered coolly. "There is information that has come to my attention that trumps our feud. At least for the time being."

"And what would _that_ be?" Dwalin snorted. "Is he worried about getting mud-stains on his dress?"

"It's a robe, dwarf," Thranduil sneered. "And I have no fear of mud, nor blood-shed for that matter. No, news I have is of a more urgent nature than my claim on the gold, especially as if we do not deal with it there will be no gold for anyone."

"There are no dragons left," Thorin scoffed. "That is all that could pose a threat to the Mountain. Unless you've conjured one."

"I am no sorcerer," Thranduil snapped. "Perhaps I should leave you to your well-deserved fate as it is of your making, not mine."

"And what fate would that be?" Thorin demanded, wondering just how he could be accused of bringing a calamity down on them all so soon into his reign in the mountain.

"Orcs," Bard spat the word as if the very taste of it was foul on his tongue. "An army of them."

"Moving in daylight?" Glóin scoffed. "Next time you buy into one of his lies, laddie, do your research first. Orcs cannot move under the sun."

"They can if they are shaded by a cloud of bats," Thranduil said acridly. "I told you we should have just left them to their fate," he muttered to the hooded man.

"Bats?" Bilbo snorted incredulously. "You honestly expect us to believe that an army of Orcs is marching on us shaded by a cloud of _bats_? What kind of fools do you take us for you slimy, lying son of a—"

"Bilbo Baggins!" A familiar voice called out in shock as the old man threw back his hood reveling none other than Gandalf. "Your mother would be _ashamed_ of you! Speaking to people in such a manner."

"No, Gandalf," Bilbo replied. "She'd be embarrassed that I have yet to _wallop_ him with an umbrella for all that he's done.  Jailing the company, threatening to do the same to all the refugees if we refused to give him a fourteenth of the gold in Erebor, for the cost of our imprisonment, mind you, and then declaring war on us when we refused. No, Gandalf. _He_ hardly counts as a person in my reckoning, let alone one worthy of respect." Gandalf looked to Thanduil to refute these accusations, but the Elf-King merely shrugged.

"Be that as it may," Gandalf continued, turning back to the company while continuing to cast the King of the Woodland realm glances out of the corner of his eye, "it does not change the fact that an army of orcs and wargs is making its way towards the Lonely Mountain. Your only hope of survival is to unite and face them."

"So they can kill us as soon as the orcs are dispatched?" Dwalin scoffed. "I think not. I'd rather take my own head and sho—"

"Hush," Thorin commanded. "Dáin, can you confirm this?"

"Aye," the dwarf replied. "There is an army on your doorstep. However, I think we should take shelter in the mountain and allow the orcs to take out the filth for us. After all, you did express a desire to avoid war with the elves, did you not, cousin?" Thorin was silent for a moment before he sighed.

"As much as I despise the elves of Mirkwood, I cannot allow orcs to roam unchecked over my lands," he said finally. "Bard, Thranduil, the dwarves will join you. Arm up, we will come down and discuss tactics."

"Or we could come up," Thranduil suggested.

"No," Thorin said shortly, the word coming out a bit more panicked than he'd intended. He closed his eyes and attempted to regain his composure, a task helped by Bilbo's hand in his own while the other traced senseless patterns on the back of his arm.

"Make no mistake, Thranduil," he said as soon as he was certain that his voice would hold, "this changes nothing between us. Not even in this alliance will I allow _you_ to come freely through my gates. If ever you enter them at all it will be in chains. Bard, your people may shelter within the mountain. The orcs will not breach it."

Bard nodded at his man and a single note was blown. Shortly thereafter, the women, children and elderly from Lake Town crested the rise.

"I hoped you would say that," Bard replied with a smile.

"Lower the ladder," Thorin ordered, the command being carried out instantly and the first of the refugees beginning to climb. "Show them to their lodging. Bilbo, Dwalin, Fíli, come with me. Kíli, keep an eye on that snake. If he makes a move to strike, strike first."

"Yes, Uncle," Kíli replied, lifting his bow and moving his quiver to his back. "Be safe," he said as his brother, uncle, cousins and Bilbo began to climb down a rope Nori had secured for them to keep the ladder clear for the women and children.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Needless to say, tactical planning did not go well. Thorin and the dwarves wanted to march out and meet the enemy on the field of battle far from their stronghold while Thranduil wanted to use the spurs of the mountain for his archers and route the orcs into their arms to their death.

"And ours," Dwalin snarled. "You want to trap us between the gate and the orcs with no means of escape should they prove too many with nothing but your word that your archers will only aim for _them_. I don't like it, Thorin."

"Nor do I," Bard agreed. "That layout is good for archers but for ground troops, it's suicide. We cannot trap them like that, with their only escape route being into the mountain with the women and children. There has to be another way."

"So you would have us ride out and meet them where we may, uncertain of the terrain on which we would fight, when we could wait here and stage an ambush?" Thranduil demanded. "I thought _you_ had some sense, Bard."

"Two armies to one, Thranduil," Thorin said, his tone suggesting it was of minimal importance when just the opposite was true. "It looks like we march."

"Then you do it without me or my archers," Thranduil stated. "I will not march my men into certain death. I wouldn't do it against a dragon and I won't do it against an army of orcs. We will remain behind. And when you fall we will defend the mountain from the orcs."

"And pilfer the gold while we're gone," Dáin snorted.

"We do not _pilfer_ ," the blonde elf that had delivered the original declaration of war snarled.

"Peace, Legolas," Thranduil said. "We cannot expect them to understand _honor."_ At that the room erupted into chaos, dwarves and elves alike protesting the accusations of the others.

"We are all going to die," Gandalf muttered running a hand through his hair before resting his forehead on his palm.

"He's right," Bilbo said suddenly, his quiet voice cutting through the loud ones due to its pitch.

"We will not die," Thorin said stroking the hobbit's unmarred cheek. "Leastways, _you_ will not because if we cannot come to a decision soon I will send you back to the mountain to remain within her walls."

"No, you won't" Bilbo said with a certainty he didn't feel. "But it . . . it wasn't Gandalf I meant. I . . . I think," he paused to take a deep breath. "Now, bear in mind that I know next to nothing about war but . . . I think Thranduil's right. It . . . it doesn't make sense to march into a unknown area when we can wait for them to come to us."

"Coward," Dáin scoffed. "He's trying to lead us astray the pointy-eared, beardless--"

"Enough," Thorin roared, shooting to his feet and slamming a fist on the table. "I give you much leeway, _cousin_. I allow you to sit here and goad the elves on the matter of the gold, which I will now remind you that you have no claim to either, but you go too far. Bilbo Baggins is many things, intelligent, loyal and brave are only a few of them. But in this matter what is important is that he is my mate and I will not sit here and allow you to defame him. Am I understood?"

"Clearly," Dáin said grudgingly. "So are we also to take his word as law in this matter? Will we be waiting for the orcs?" Before Thorin could answer, their meeting was broken by a raven flying in and crashing onto the table.

"M-my . . . my King," it panted, looking up at Thorin as it sucked in great gasps of air. "Th-there is . . ." It broke off coughing before attempting its message once more.

"Peace," Thorin said holding a hand up to stop the bird. "Catch your breath and then deliver your message."

"No time," the bird breathed. "They come . . .  soon."

"Who comes?" Thorin asked. "The orcs?" The bird nodded before resting its head on the table, its wings spread and its beak open as it attempted to cool its overheated body.

"Looks like we'll face them here," Thorin muttered, laughing a bit at the cruelty of fate. "Arm up. Fíli, run back to the mountain and fetch the rest. Bilbo, it's time to hide yourself. Stay close to me, I'll try to protect you."

"I'll guard your back, Thorin," Bilbo promised. "Your life won't end this day. The line of Durin will not fall in battle if there is anything I can do about it."

"Stay safe," Thorin replied pressing a gentle kiss to his hobbit's lips. As Bilbo disappeared from his sight, he hoped it wasn't the last time he'd see his mate.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The battle itself was chaos. Despite Bilbo's words of guarding Thorin's back, he had been separated from the dwarf in the first charge, his shorter legs unable to keep up. He was fighting his way through the press of bodies when he heard a roar in the opposite direction that he was moving.

"Thorin," he breathed, moving in the direction of the sound, thankful for once that the Ring made the world a colorless place. Even without color he could see the spray of what he knew must be blood from the iron-rich smell in the air. Not for the first time, he thought that hobbits were not made for this kind of thing. He cried out as something hit him between the shoulder blades, knocking him into the mud—he refused to think of what else he may have fallen into. As he stood, he was thankful yet again that Thorin was overprotective.  That armor had saved him so many times that he'd already lost count, though he could feel some sore places where things had struck him. That arrow would have been the end of him.

There was a sudden cry of pain to his right that sounded suspiciously familiar. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he pushed his way through the press, taking the opportunity to stab an orc that was about to kill a down dwarf below its ribs, ignoring the sick feeling of hot, thick blood on his hand. Suddenly, the press of bodies was gone. Instantly he wished they were back. In the space before him was a sight he never wished to see again; Thorin was on the ground, Azog above him, ready to deliver a final blow. Without thinking about planning or logic, Bilbo charged into the orc, bouncing off, but providing enough or a distraction to allow Thorin to roll away from the mace.

Azog looked around for a moment, seeing nothing and returning to his attack on Thorin. It was then that Bilbo did what was, unarguably the most foolish thing he'd ever done in his entire life; he removed the Ring and threw a rock at the white orc's head. It connected with a satisfying thud, causing a feral smile to spread across the hobbit's face. Thorin was still attempting to get to his feet, the armor he wore hindering his progress. Determination in every line of his body, Bilbo moved to stand between them, facing Azog and brandishing his little sword.

"Bilbo, move!" Thorin demanded, trying to roll and rise. "Get out of the way!" Rather than listen, Bilbo stood there, his sword held in both his hands before him as if it were both a weapon and a shield. With a cry of desperation, Thorin shot to his feet just as Azog's clawed arm came at Bilbo's face, knowing even as the hobbit's arm came up to shield his head on instinct that it would never be enough. The scream that followed tore through the dwarf like an spear. Worse still was the sight of Bilbo held aloft by his right arm which was bleeding profusely, skewered on one of the tines, while his left scrambled desperately to relieve the pain.  He felt his own heart stop within his chest as a loud crack rent the air when Azog, looking at the hobbit on his arm with a sneer, flicked his wrist, casting Bilbo to the side. The hobbit hit the ground hard, striking a large rock and not moving from where he fell.

Thorin felt numb. It was Azanulbizar all over again. Only this time, it was Bilbo and not Thror that was slain before him. Behind the numbness, all the dwarf King could feel was rage, blind, unyielding rage. This orc had taken more from him than even Smaug! With a roar that seemed to shake the very ground, Thorin lifted the ax he had taken from the armory and charged. The desolation would be watered with the black blood of that orc, even if Thorin's own joined it.

Azog was unprepared for such an assault. He had assumed that disposing of the small creature that had caused him such strife would break the dwarf. The look that initially crossed his face made Azog's heart swell. Not only would Thorin die, he would suffer. If Azog was lucky, he might even drop to his knees before him first. How glorious it would be! The final remnant of the Line of Durin, knelling before Azog, and then being killed. His name would echo across the centuries. None would dare oppose him!

Even as this victorious thought crossed his mind, he heard an earth shattering roar and turned to see a giant bear coming across the battle field, swiping aside both men, elves and orcs in his haste, murder burning in its brown eyes. A lesser roar sounded behind him and he turned, just in time to see Thorin Oakenshield leap into the air, ax swinging. He felt his eyes widen in shock and a sharp pain, and then Azog the Defiler knew no more.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin stood there, above the fallen body of his enemy far longer than should have been allowed watching until the black blood stopped pumping. Only then did he look around, attempting to find a new threat, prepared to defend Bilbo's body from any that might harm him but there were none. The great bear that was Beorn was decimating all the orcs and wargs unfortunate enough to come into reach of his mighty paws, as were the Eagles—swooping down and carrying orcs and wargs alike to great heights only to dash them to death on the slopes of the mountain. Dáin's soldiers had forced the remaining orcs away from their King, a task made all the easier by Azog's death, leaving Thorin standing in a lull as the battle died around them.

Chest heaving and limbs beginning to shake as his rage left him, leaving behind only nauseating fear, he turned at last to the small body lying on the ground. Bilbo was still in the same position he had fallen, but there was a steady, if shallow, rise and fall that spoke of continued life. Knowing it would be bad, Thorin rolled his mate's body over attempting to assess the damage.

In reality, it was no where near a bad as he had feared. Though too pale and pinched with pain, Bilbo appeared mostly unmarred, save for his arm. With a bitter curse, Thorin removed the belt that held his chainmail close to him and twisted it around the hobbit's arm to slow the bleeding. Even accustomed to war and wounds, Thorin did not look too closely at the torn flesh as he did, only assessing the blood loss but not attempting to examine the damage for himself. It was as he tightened the belt one final time that Bilbo whimpered and opened his eyes. It pleased Thorin to see that they were still sharp, even if they were clearly pained.

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered as the King looked down at him as he lay injured on the battle field. “I told you that we would break the streak of the line of Durin dying in battle, didn’t I?” He gave Thorin a pained smile that turned into a grimace as a wave of pain washed over him and a choked sob passed through his lips. While he was pleasantly surprised to see Thorin, the agony in his arm almost made him wish he hadn't survived.

“You did,” Thorin replied, stroking Bilbo's hair back from his forehead, his own voice tight as he watched his hobbit writhe in pain. “I didn’t think you meant it though.”

“Of course I did!” Bilbo tried to snap, though it came out as little more than a pained gasp. “Couldn’t have you dying without me, could I? Besides, I always . . . keep my promises.”

“No,” Thorin replied. “And you can’t die on me. Promise me that you won’t die.”

“I promise,” Bilbo answered weakly. “But I do think I will sleep for a bit.” Before Thorin could protest, Bilbo’s head lulled over onto his shoulder and his eyes closed. He had passed out. Without worrying about his own wounds, Thorin carefully lifted the hobbit and made his way to the camp that was already being set within the orcless spurs of the mountain to tend the wounded.

“You’d better keep this one,” Thorin whispered to the sleeping hobbit in his arms.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It took only a moment to find a dwarven healer's tent. And less than that to gain admittance when they realized who he was.

"Please," he said just resisting the urge to grab the healer's coat, "My mate, he was injured. You have to help him." Part of Thorin's mind reminded him that there were protocols, triage and such, that followed such a battle with the worst injured that stood a chance of survival being seen first—with a broken arm rating fairly low on the scale—but the rest of his mind argued that as a King who had sacrificed so much for his people he would be forgiven for jumping line to save his mate.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," one of the healers said, prepared to remind his king of the order of things following a battle, only to be cut off by another.

"Bring him," Óin ordered. "We'll see to him, Thorin. Master Baggins will be well taken care of. Gróin, relieve His Majesty of the hobbit. We will need to get to work."

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” one of the healers, Gróin, said, taking the hobbit from his arms delicately, mindful of his wound even with him unconscious. “You will have to leave while we work. We understand that you worry for your mate, but we cannot have you hovering.”

“I have some skills,” Thorin offered reluctant to leave Bilbo’s side, even if Óin himself was willing to work on him.

“Then I would ask you to apply them elsewhere,” the Óin replied firmly, as Gróin lay Bilbo down and began to remove his bloodied clothing. “You are too close to  him  to work objectively. We will have to do things that may cause him pain and do not need you snapping at us. Go help the others.”  The healer said nothing else, but dropped the flap of the tent, closing Thorin off from them. The King stood there for a moment, shifting nervously on his feet.

“Uncle!” he heard an anxious cry and turned to see Kíli rushing up to him with wide eyes. He crashed into Thorin, hands grasping desperately at his uncle’s arms. Thorin pulled the boy to him, placing a hand on his unruly hair for a moment, thanking the Maker that Kíli was well enough to run, before pulling back and examining him for wounds. Seeing nothing grievous he calmed slightly until he realized something with a clarity that forced his air from his lungs.

“Where’s Fíli?” Thorin demanded, his voice breathy with fear. “Kíli, where is your brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great big long one this time, folks. I'm planning to go see the new movie tomorrow and wanted to have my version of the big battle out and done before I saw it. That said, I doubted that anyone would care about getting a LONGER chapter than normal, right? As you can see above, I'm thinking just another six chapter on this one. Hope you enjoy the last push!


	50. The Consequences of Battle

“Where is your brother? Is Fíli alright?” Thorin asked. Kíli’s face fell and he looked up at Thorin, his expression so lost that Thorin knew the worst had happened.

“I . . . I don’t know,” Kíli said, his voice filled with sorrow and so small that Thorin felt tears prickle his own eyes.

“What do you mean, lad? Have a seat,” Thorin ordered patting the barrel beside him and placing a hand on Kíli’s cheek when the lad sat. Despite his gentleness, part of him wanted to shake his nephew. How could the lad _not_ know how his brother was? Had they been separated? Was Fíli missing?

“They won’t let me in,” Kíli sobbed. “I tried to go with him and they . . . they . . . you have to make them let me in, Uncle. They won’t deny you!” Thorin sighed in relief and exasperation as he realized what had happened. Fíli was still alive. Though he did hope that the rapidness of his treatment was due to who he was and not how grievously he was injured.

“I can’t, Kíli,” Thorin replied gently but firmly. “They will not listen to me.”

“But—“

“No, lad,” Thorin said more firmly pulling Kíli into an embrace again and letting him cry into his chest, remembering only too well the fear and pain of losing a brother in battle. “We will have to wait. We don’t want to be in their way. I’ll bet we can find other things to occupy ourselves for now. I’m sure there are others we can help.” He felt his nephew nod against his chest, even as he made no move to release his uncle. It was only a few moments later that his ragged breathing evened out and his hold loosened.

Thorin's first feeling was one of fear, but another look over his nephew revealed no blood soaking through his clothes and steady breathing. With a small smile, he adjusted Kíli's body into a more comfortable position and allowed his youngest—his mind refused to allow the possibility that Kíli would be his only—nephew to rest against him, feeling his own eyes drift a bit as he leaned against the rock wall behind him, the tensions of the previous days finally catching up with him.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin was still against the wall some time later when a sound, a scream actually, woke him. The weight on his chest as he attempted to sit up caused panic to flare and he made to remove it until he recognized the familiar unruly mop of hair. There was no reason to panic, the weight was nothing more than Kíli. Even that knowledge did nothing to slow the frantic pounding of his heart. As he looked around, attempting to find what had woken him, Óin came out of the healing tent, his face grim and his hands covered in blood.

“How is he?” Thorin demanded. The old healer met his eyes but said nothing and then he looked away and Thorin felt his heart clinch. Bilbo hadn’t made it. He'd lost too much blood, Thorin had known it. And after all, hobbits weren't made for war. They were soft, if brave and foolish, creatures. Bilbo had never stood a chance. He never should have taken him from his home. He should have refused to give him a contract. He'd known that no good would come of Bilbo coming.

“His injuries are grave,” the healer said, confirming Thorin's fears. Óin was many things, delicate was not generally one of them. Bilbo was not going to survive and he was trying to let him down gently.

“But he was wearing armor,” Thorin insisted, quietly so as not to wake Kíli and because he knew that no armor was protection from everything. Not even Mithril. Even so, he couldn't resist the urge to protest. “He was wearing Mithril. He can’t have been that injured.”

“His armor protected him from the punctures, but not the pressure,” the healer explained slowly, even though he knew that his King would already know it, he also knew that fear for loved ones often halted the thoughts of even the most logical. “He broke a couple of ribs. We don’t think they have punctured anything, there doesn't seem to be bleeding, but there is always the risk. None of his internal organs seem to be damaged, but, again, we cannot be sure. He dislocated his left shoulder, but his right arm is the worst.” Thorin flinched at the words, seeing the small form of the hobbit rushing between him and Azog once more. Hearing Bilbo scream in pain as the hook pierced his arm and the crack of bone as it was wrenched out.

“How bad is it?” Thorin asked, feeling numb. “Will he still have use of it?”

“Thorin” the healer responded sadly. With just that one word, his name, the King knew what had to have happened. He'd always known, ever since he saw the hook through his mate's arm.

“There was too much damage," Óin continued, even though the way Thorin paled told him the King already knew what had been done. "We  tried to reset the bone and close the wound, but . . . you know how these things are. There were too many fragments. Too much bleeding. We had to take it. I am sorry.”

 Thorin said nothing, merely closing his eyes. He knew that he should be happy that Bilbo was likely to survive, but he could only hope that the hobbit would feel the same with the loss of his hand.

 “Do you . . . do you know how my nephew fares?" he asked, changing the subject. "They will tell me nothing.” He didn't mention that he hadn't actually tried to discover how things were going, as he and Kíli had fallen asleep.

“I will go attend to him personally,” the healer promised. “I _will_ bring you news, My King.” Thorin nodded and looked down at the Kíli’s sleeping head, now resting in his lap. He stroked the lad’s dark hair gently.  It felt wrong to be glad of anything with his lover and his nephew on death’s doorstep, but he couldn’t help feel relieved that Kíli was alive and well. He wouldn’t have been able to stand the chance of losing them all.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Óin returned a few moments later, a smile on his face and Fíli limping behind him. Even with him on his feet, Fíli looked a mess. Every inch of the lad was covered in blood, and not the black blood of orcs but red blood. Even his hair's blonde hue was hidden.

"Fíli," Thorin cried, jumping to his feet and dumping Kíli into the floor. The youngest heir's yelp of protest was silenced at the sight of his brother. With a laugh, the youngest Durin leapt to his feet and crashed into his brother, crushing him in a hug before looking him over. He shocked them all by landing a solid punch to Fíli's jaw.

"What was that for?" the elder brother demanded, rubbing the spot where he had been hit.

"Scaring me," Kíli returned. "I thought you were dead. Seeing them carrying you off the battlefield covered in blood and writhing. And you don't even have a wound!"

"I do so!"  Fíli defended, pushing aside a cut in his pant leg and revealing a burned circle of flesh. "An arrow, all the way through. They even had to cauterize it. Dwalin says it will scar." He sounded pleased with the last bit, as if having a battle scar was a badge of honor. And in a way it was. It showed that you had seen combat and come out alive. Thorin couldn't help but smile at their light banter. He'd worried that even if they survived they would not be his nephews when they came out, but they seemed unchanged by the experience. He wasn't entirely sure it was a good thing.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The day went on and Bilbo continued to sleep and the healers continued to forbid Thorin's presence, citing the hobbit's need for rest if he was to be expected to survive. Rather than rail at them to be allowed entry, Thorin took their advice and attempted to find ways to useful. Though he had said that he had skills at healing, the task before him was beyond him. The only thing he really had to offer was his size. Being large, for a dwarf, enabled him to help restrain others so the healers could attempt to save them.

He, Dwalin and a couple of healers were scouring the field of battle for survivors, dispatching the Orc survivors they found, when they came across a Man, his arm pinned beneath a large, armored orc. As one they moved to shift the body only for the man to scream and beg them to stop. One of the healers knelt down on the far side of the orc and shook his head sadly.

"Put it down," he ordered coming back around to the man's side, hours of working together having taken his fear of giving orders to his king where his craft was concerned. "It's no good. Hand me the belt. We have to take it off."

"You can't," the man cried attempting to squirm away as the healer began tightening the tourniquet. "I have to have my arm."

"Your arm is crushed, and the flesh is already dead," the healer replied. "It has to come off or you will join it. Thorin, hold him still." The king nodded and laid across the man, using his weight to pin him. "Dwalin." The warrior nodded at his name and raised an ax above his head.

"It'll be quick," he promised  before removing the arm in one swing. It didn't stop the man from screaming in pain even after the limb was removed and clutching his stump to his chest sobbing.

"Now, let's get you back to camp and take care of the last little bit," the healer said, grabbing the man by his good arm and pulling him to his feet while pointedly not elaborating what the last bit would be. Thorin made to follow but was stopped by a sardonic voice.

"Barbaric," the voice said. The dwarf king turned with a sigh to see none other than the Elf King standing there with a disgusted look on his face.

"What would you have done?" Thorin demanded, his temper rising at the interference of the other in such a stressful situation with nothing more to offer than criticism. "Could you have saved his arm?"

"No," Thranduil admitted. "But I would have drugged him before cutting it off. I don't see the need in causing unnecessary pain."

"My experiences with you tell me that is not true," Thorin sighed turning away and walking back towards the mountain. He knew that turning his back on the Elf was only asking to be imprisoned once more, but he was too weary and emotionally wrung out to summon the type of panic he should have been feeling.

 "I have neither the time nor the energy to do this now, Thranduil," Thorin continued, hoping that the elf would hear the dismissal and not press the matter. "There are things far more important than you that demand my attention."

"More important than me retracting my claim on the gold and allowing your people passage through my realm?" the elf asked. When Thorin turned around the expected smirk was not there, rather there was absolute seriousness.

"Why the change of heart?" Thorin asked, elation and mistrust warring for dominance in his mind.

"Your mate and nephew," Thranduil replied. "They saved my son and I. Legolas . . . he is all I have left in this world. And if not for your mate he would be dead."

"How do you know it was my mate?" Thorin asked. He knew very well that BIlbo had been invisible so the elf could not have seen him save the elf-princling. As much as he wanted the outcome that was being offered, he could not take it under false pretenses. That would make him no better than Thranduil.

"A sword," Thranduil replied. "A blue glowing sword wielded by no one felled the orc that would have killed my son. I originally thanked the wizard but when I explained what I had seen he said that your mate had such a sword and also a Ring of invisibility. I doubt he knew who he saved or he might have allowed the orc to complete its foul deed."

"You may know many things, Thranduil," Thorin laughed, "but you do not know Bilbo Baggins. Even had it been _you_ that orc was attempting to slay, he would have saved your life."

"He hates me," Thranduil said simply.

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "Perhaps as much as I do. But Bilbo . . . he prefers to take his vengeance in the form of tongue-lashings rather than more physical manners. He will most likely hate you until his dying day, and may have some harsh words for you but he would never attack you physically."

"And you, Thorin Oakenshield?" Thranduil asked. "I know you hate me as well. Do I need to fear for my wellbeing in your presence?"

"No," Thorin answered wearily. "I'm tired, Thranduil. Tired of carrying around hatred and distrust. I've lost too many I have loved to obsessions over the years, that's all my hatred of you is; an obsession. After today, I see that it does nothing for me, only hurts and puts at risk those that I love. I'm getting old, Thranduil. Too old and too weary to maintain it any longer. We are not friends. I do not trust you, but I do not see why we cannot be neighbors."

"What caused this change of heart?" Thranduil asked, more impressed than he would ever admit with the dwarf's new personality.

"My mate," Thorin answered. "I nearly lost him today and may yet still. Such a thing goes a long way to putting things into perspective. Hating you will not save him, nor will it save, feed or warm any of us. In the end, hating you accomplishes nothing."

"You should have lost him the moment you raised a hand to him," Thranduil said simply. The words struck Thorin like a physical blow. While he knew that they were true, to hear them from someone who had been his enemy for so long . . . it stung.

"Are you attempting to goad me?" Thorin sighed. "If so, it will not work. I know the truth of your words only too well. Bilbo Baggins is a treasure, one that I have been far to careless with. I will never make that mistake again in the future and  as he sees fit to forgive my transgression, I request that you never make mention of it." They were silent for a moment, each staring at the other as if attempting to read their soul, eventually Thranduil nodded.

"Where does this leave us?" Thorin asked. "Are we allies?"

"Neighbors," Thranduil corrected. "Neither of us trusts the other well enough to be true allies. I will allow your returning people passage through my woods and those of you that are here a fair price on food stuffs. No more, no less."

"Neighbors," Thorin agreed, holding out his hand for Thranduil to clasp in agreement. The elf seemed to observe the hand for a moment, assessing it as one might a serpent about to strike before clasping Thorin's arm just above his wrist.

"Neighbors," Thranduil repeated, turning and walking away back onto the field of battle, pausing a short distance away and kneeling beside the body of a fallen elf, sorrow crossing his proud features as he reached out an closed his comrade's eyes before being hidden once more behind his blank mask. Seeing that mask slip, Thorin felt for the first time that he might understand the Elf King more than he had ever thought possible.

"What did he want?" Dwalin asked as Thorin caught up with the healing procession.

"A truce," Thorin replied. "Bilbo saved his son and in repayment he rescinds his claim on the gold and agrees to allow our people to return home unmolested."

"Mahal bless that hobbit," Dwalin sighed. "Even unconscious he's doing right by our people." Thorin could only hope that The Maker was listening. He had no idea what he would do without Bilbo Baggins. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he wondered how he had come to be so dependent on another before deciding that the how of it was irrelevant. Like it or not, his happiness—his very sanity—was tied to Bilbo Baggins' continued survival. Without that hobbit . . . Thorin hated to think of what would become of him.

 

 


	51. Life and Loss

It was the next morning before the healers decided that Bilbo was stable enough for visitors. Even then, they would only allow the company in one at a time and only for a short amount of time so as not to overwhelm him. None of them had ever treated a hobbit before and were unsure of their resilience in the face of traumatic wounds. In light of that, and his position as both a member of the company and Thorin's mate, they were taking no chances. None of them wanted to be the one responsible for the death of the King's Hobbit.

There was no question amongst the company of who his first visitor would be. The moment they announced that visitors could be had, Thorin was on his feet and moving through the flap of the tent. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness but once they did, he almost wished they hadn't. He knew that the healers said that the hobbit was stable, but he found that he had difficulty believing it as he looked down at the small form of his lover in the bed. Bilbo looked so pale and thin. It seemed almost ironic that the only color left in his face was the purple bruise that he had put there. He sat on the edge of the bed, and stroked back the bangs that had managed to escape the hobbit’s messy braids. BIlbo didn’t stir at the touch.

“Please,” Thorin whispered leaning down to press his forehead against Bilbo’s. “Please don’t die. I need you beside me. No one else . . .  you’re the only who tells me when I have gone too far. Even if I don't seem to appreciate your advice.  I . . . I can’t lose you.”

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered quietly, surprised by the sound of his own voice. It was so hoarse. He hadn't known it was possible for a voice to sound that way, or for a body to experience such pain. Breathing hurt and it seemed that his eyes had been glued shut. But with some difficulty he managed to open them and seek out Thorin's blue eyes above him, the worry in them almost more unbearable than his own pains. He wanted to stroke Thorin's cheek, but the movement was beyond him.

"Bilbo," the dwarf said pulling back and placing his hand on the unmarred side of his lover's face and searching his green eyes for hints as to how he would fare. "How do you feel?"

"Sore," Bilbo answered honestly. "My chest. . . I can't even describe . . ."

"You have a few broken ribs," Thorin said softly, his thumb stroking the bone below Bilbo's eye gently. "I'm not certain how quickly hobbits heal, however they will likely twinge for some time."

"This is a bit more than a twinge," Bilbo said with a wince as he laughed at the dwarf's warning.

"I can ask if there is anything they can give you for the pain," Thorin offered. "I'm not sure what, if anything, we have. Maybe the elves—"

"You'd ask the elves?" Bilbo asked, his eyebrows rising up into his hairline.

"I would ask Thranduil himself if it meant that you did not suffer," Thorin said seriously.

"I wouldn't ask that of you," BIlbo replied, leaning into Thorin's hand and closing his eyes, with a small whimper. "Though if this arm doesn't stop hurting I might ask you to send Balin to the elves."

"Your arm?" Thorin asked, wishing that his tone had come out more levelly than it had. They hadn't told him anything was wrong with Bilbo's left arm, other than being dislocated. Bilbo nodded tiredly.  "Which one?"

"The right," Bilbo replied. "My hand feels numb and the bones feel like fire. I know you're quite proud of cutting off his arm but I think that blasted hook was worse than an arm ever could have been." Thorin felt his heart sink at the words. If it had been the left there were options but the right. Thorin had seen old warriors that swore up and down that they could still feel toes or pains in limbs that were no longer there, many times _decades_ after the loss of their limb. He also knew there was no herb known to his people to combat those pains.

"Bilbo," Thorin began  slowly, "have you looked at your arm since the battle?" The hobbit shook his head, opening his eyes at Thorin's tone.

"I've been too afraid to," Bilbo admitted. "It hurts so. And I remember feeling the bone . . . no, I haven't looked."

"I think you should," the dwarf said sadly, pulling aside the hobbit's blankets and revealing the bandaged stump. It looked as though they had gone just above the break, leaving him a bit of arm below the elbow. While Thorin was glad they had, as it would increase his use of it, he also knew that the risk of infection with such an amputation was greater than if they had taken it at the elbow.

"It's gone," Bilbo said, looking at the bandage in shock, as though continued staring would make his limb reappear from the stump. Or that it was a trick of the light and there was truly an arm under the bandages. It was only when he brought his left hand over and touched the bare blankets where he could still feel his arm that the truth hit home.

"But I can still feel it," BIlbo whispered, looking to Thorin hoping for the dwarf to tell him it had been a cruel prank.

"And you likely will forever," Thorin replied gently. "Unless Gandalf knows a remedy for such pains. I would that there was another way this could have ended. I'm sorry that you lost your hand for—"

"I'm not," Bilbo cut him off. "I'm sad to lose it but I'd be heartbroken to lose you. If one hand is the price of your life . . . it's a price I'm willing to pay. Besides, it's not like I can change my mind now, is it?" Thorin was nearly offended at the hobbit's bitter tone—even if he deserved any ire that Bilbo Baggins desired to throw at him—until he looked up, seeing the faint smirk on his lover's face realized that it had been sarcasm.

"You must be feeling better," Thorin muttered.

"I'm not, I assure you," Bilbo replied softly, his eyes drifting closed once more. "I don't know what it was that gave you such an impression, but it is a false one. I feel as though I haven't slept in days."

"Then rest, _Gishavel_ ," Thorin whispered, stroking the curls back from his face before moving to stand. "None will disturb you. I promise."

"Thorin?" Bilbo called. Thorin turned to see his mate staring up at him holding out his left hand. "Stay?" Bilbo asked. "Please?" It was on his tongue to say that the healers would not allow it, but the vulnerability in Bilbo's green eyes decided him; he would stay, the healers be damned. As he turned around, the brilliant smile from his hobbit was enough to steel him against the fight to come. Even though he knew he shouldn't, when Bilbo scooted over on his palate to make space for Thorin, he couldn't deny even that request. So it was that Thorin was there later that day when the weight of what had happened finally sunk in and held Bilbo while he cried—all the time saying how selfish he felt to be crying over a hand when lives had been lost—and muttering into his hair.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It took nearly a week for the healers to feel that Bilbo was strong enough to leave the tent, even escorted, but by the time the time came, the entire company had heard what had happened. Bilbo, however, was not ready. He and Thorin had spent a good deal of the time ensconced in the tent, allowing Bilbo to relearn everyday tasks such as dressing and feeding himself but things were not going as quickly as the hobbit had hoped. A week out and he still was unable to fasten his own clothing—necessitating help with even donning a jacket, forget about attempting to do up the fastenings—or cut his own meat—he was fortunate if he could get an entire meal to his mouth without wearing it, his left hand being unpracticed at the task. While these things were galling in their own right, having to be dressed and fed like a hobbitling all the while feeling an ache that he _knew_ was not there, the most heartbreaking moment came when it was time to go to the company.

Thorin had been wearing his hair loose since the battle, having neither the time nor the energy to braid it. He'd been using the true excuse that he was mourning the dead to account for it to any who would dare to question his lack of dress. But with Bilbo on the mend, the time had come for them to return to the mountain. There was no way that he could return to his kingdom with his hair unbound and had just sat down to the task when he heard an angry huff of air behind him. He turned to see Bilbo standing with one of Thorin's beads between his fingers and frustrated tears in his eyes.

"Bilbo?" Thorin asked softly. This wasn't the first such episode they had had in the past week as the hobbit's frustration got the better of him, but it was the first time that nothing seemed to precipitate it.

"I'll never be able to do it again," Bilbo replied, his tone bitter.

"What's that?" Thorin asked, wondering what had upset his mate this time.

"Your hair," Bilbo explained. "I'll never be able to braid it for you." Thorin opened his mouth to tell the hobbit that it didn't matter to him, but was cut off after a single syllable. "Don't you _dare_ tell me that it doesn't matter," Bilbo snapped. "I still remember how much gossip you braiding back my bangs caused. I _know_ what braids mean to your people. I matters, Thorin."

"No," the dwarf promised, rising and pulling the irate hobbit against him. "It is a small matter, Bilbo. Yes," he continued, talking over the hobbit's protests, "braids are important and can mark your beloved as your own but this," he paused and lifted Bilbo's bandaged stump and placed a tender kiss to it even as Bilbo tried to pull it away, " _this_ says more about your devotion to me than a hundred braids ever could. Anyone can weave a plait, very few would risk their lives not once but _twice_ for those that they profess to love. If it bothers you to see any braids but your own in my hair, I would go without and explain to any that ask that I need no such tokens of your affection."

"You can't do that," Bilbo muttered, feeling flattered by the offer and his dwarf's words but also knowing that what Thorin was offering , in a way, only showed how foolish he was being. It wasn't as if the King Under the Mountain could spend the rest of his life unbraided.

"I can and I will, if you ask it," Thorin replied without pause. "None whose opinions matter to me would dare to question such a decision."

"Braid it," Bilbo said firmly. "I can't have them saying that I have lead to the loss of decorum of the ruler of the kingdom." Thorin nodded and sat down once more, braiding his hair into his customary braids before offering the end to Bilbo and allowing the hobbit to clasp the open bead around the end of the braid. He looked up gently as he closed his hand around Bilbo's fingers, forcing the clasp the rest of the way closed when the hobbit couldn't do it alone.

"It'll take time, Bilbo," Thorin offered gently. "You'll learn."

"There will always be things I can't do," Bilbo reminded him.

"And I will always be here to help," Thorin promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks, life got bit out of hand and I haven't had time to update, even though there are still three chapters of this one that are written and waiting to be posted. I may post the next chapter this evening or perhaps tomorrow evening or this weekend at the latest. So unless I get wordy, there are four chapters left of this one.


	52. Reunions and Continued Complications

"Do we have to do this?" Bilbo asked as Thorin helped him to dress to leave his sick-tent.

"They've missed you,"  the dwarf said in reply. "Do you want your sleeve rolled up or left loose?"

"Loose," Bilbo replied shaking it out so that it covered his bandages and dangled freely below his lost limb. It did nothing to hide the loss but to roll it up would reveal the wound and he wasn't ready for them to see it.

" _Gishavel_ ," Thorin sighed, pushing the sleeve up so that the bandages were visible. "This is nothing to be ashamed of. You should not attempt to hide it and make things more difficult for yourself in the process. Do you _want_ to trail your sleeve through things when you forget and reach for them with your right arm?" When Bilbo looked away instead of replying, Thorin continued. "At any rate, it is not as if they are not already aware of what you lost for my sake."

"You told them?" Bilbo demanded, feeling betrayed somehow that they had been gossiping about his loss behind his back.

"Óin preformed the amputation," Thoin said softly, he hadn't yet told Bilbo that fact, uncertain how the hobbit would take the knowledge that one he had trusted had been the one to remove his arm. He was a bit worried when Bilbo paled, but then his color returned and his face pinched in an emotion Thorin couldn't place.

"I suppose that means there _was_ no other option," Bilbo said eventually, his voice tight with tears. "I . . . I had wondered if . . . but if that was what Óin thought was best . . . he would have tried everything else within reason."

"He told me that he attempted to set it but—"

"There were too many fragments," Bilbo finished.  "I remember hearing someone say it. I just . . . " They were silent for a time, Bilbo attempting to regain control of his breathing and Thorin hovering uncomfortably, unsure how welcome his touch would be at the moment.

"Let's get this over with," Bilbo said finally, grasping Thorin's right hand in his left, needing the support both emotionally and physically, the loss of his lower arm having altered his sense of balance in a way that he hadn't been anticipating. It was only once they were out of the tent and the company had moved to greet them—all of them pointedly not looking at Bilbo's arm—that Bilbo realized that his sleeve was still rolled up, revealing the bandages for the whole world to see.

"Bilbo!" Kíli cried coming forward and beginning to pull him into an embrace before a small shake of his head and glare from his uncle warned him off. "It's good to see you up."

"You look good, lad," Balin said with a small smile, though in reality he felt that the hobbit looked far too pale and drawn for being a week into healing. He only hoped that hobbits were as resilient as he'd come to believe they were.

"No he doesn't," Bofur chimed in. "Looks like death warmed over, he does." The entire company looked at him in shock, Bilbo included, while Thorin glared at the miner for discouraging his mate but Bofur continued, unrepentant, "He's too pale and clearly still in pain. While it does do a heart good to see him out and about on his own two feet, what good does it do anyone to lie to the lad? Do you want to be coddled just because you're down a hand, Bilbo?"

"Well, I suppose not," Bilbo said, having not thought about it in quite that way.

"Didn't think so," Bofur said smiling warmly at him. "That said, I've never been so happy to see such a paleface  in my entire life." And then, shocking them all once more, he stepped forward and pulled the hobbit into a gentle embrace. "Glad you pulled through," he said stepping back and giving the hobbit his space once more at least for a moment.

Seconds later, Balin followed suit and grabbed the hobbit gently by the side of the head and placed his forehead against the hobbit's. "I hate to think what would have become of us had you passed," he whispered. "He may not say it himself, but Thorin needs you more than he'll ever admit. But more than that, I'd've missed you had you passed."

"Good thing I didn't then, eh?" Bilbo replied, going for sarcasm but failing miserably. The rest of the company followed suit each of them reassuring themselves tactilely that Bilbo was still alive and with them, until Óin's turn came.

"I'm sorry, lad," the old dwarf said,  nodding towards Bilbo's arm, the first since Bofur to make mention of the change. "Sorry I couldn't do more. But at the end of the day, I still only a dwarf. Maybe we should have sent for Gandalf but—"

"You did what you could," Bilbo cut him off, offering the healer a sad smile. "I bear you no ill-will for saving my life. I've no doubt that I would have died if you hadn't done what you did. And . . . well, it was a good hand, but it was only a limb. Look at everything else I would have lost if you hadn't." Óin could only nod. Bilbo's tone had made it clear that he wasn't quite ready to accept the truth of his own words, but the fact that he was at least thinking them gave the old healer hope that someday he would see things that way. Someday he would see what he'd gained rather than what he'd lost.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The rest of the meeting with the company went well, and in the weeks that followed things continued to look up. Bilbo was slowly adapting to the loss of his hand, dwarves and men were working side-by-side both within the mountain and, on nice days, in the ruins of Dale to make both habitable again by springtime. Even with all these successes, Thorin, much to the dismay of the company, had decided to wait to host his coronation until such a time as supplies (and mead) were more plentiful and after his sister arrived in the summer.

It was one cold day in the middle of winter when Thorin returned to their rooms—what had been his parent's rooms—to find Bilbo sitting before the fireplace, staring down at a blank sheet of paper with a mournful look on his face. Thorin stopped at the door, not wanting to intrude. Although Bilbo never lashed out at him for his part in the loss of his limb, seeing his mate continue to struggle with pains that weren't there and tasks he once did easily was nearly worse.

"I want to write," Bilbo said before he could ask, looking up at Thorin with sad eyes. "Even though I've learned to do many things, my hand smears the ink and the paper slips from under," he trailed off, unable to find words to describe his amputated limb. "And the posture it makes me take to hold a paper for what little time I can . . . I can't write, Thorin. Not anymore. Not ever."

"I have a gift for you," Thorin said rather than answering Bilbo's complaints directly. "I wish I could say that it was I who made it for you, but I had it commissioned."

"Thank you, but I'm in no mood for gifts today, Thorin," Bilbo said crossing his arms, the left atop the right, across his chest and sitting back staring into the flames once more. "I'm afraid I won't be able to summon the enthusiasm that is should for something you've put the time and effort into finding."

"I think you will make an exception for this one, _GIshavel_ ," Thorin muttered coming to stand beside his hobbit and placing a box in Bilbo's lap. When the hobbit made to protest, Thorin shook his head. "Open it," the King commanded.

With a sigh, Bilbo pinned the box with his stump and pulled the tie with his hand. With another put-out sound he carefully maneuvered his limbs to lift the lid, planning to attempt to feign enthusiasm only to be awestruck at what was inside; a perfectly carved wooden replica of a lower arm and hand. He reached cautiously into the box and lifted it. The wood was light in his hand, smooth with a padded cuff opposite the hand and soft leather straps for securing it. 

"How?" he managed to breathe after a time.

"Bofur," Thorin replied with a small smile. "He and Bifur carved it for you, Kíli brought down the deer for the leather, Ori knitted the sleeve for inside. It should be positioned in just the right way for you to grasp things like a knife, fork and to help hold things. It will not be anywhere near as dexterous as yours was but it should help."

"Thank you," Bilbo breathed, stroking along the wooden arm fighting back tears at the thoughtfulness of his friends.

"You owe me no thanks," Thorin replied, smiling gently at seeing Bilbo so happy. "I merely suggested that such a thing could be made, they were the ones that put my idea into practice. I briefly considered forging you one of precious metal, then my sense got the better of me and I decided that a hobbit would prefer to wear an arm of more natural materials. I can still make one for special occasions, if you'd like." Bilbo said nothing, merely sitting up a bit higher to press a kiss to Thorin's bearded jaw, wrinkling his nose as the growing whiskers tickled him.

"I love you," Bilbo said, resting his head on his mate's shoulder and bringing his hand up to stroke Thorin's beard.

"And I you," Thorin replied, leaning into the touch while wrapping his arms around the hobbit beside him. Broken though they both were, he couldn't help but be thankful that they were still together.

**ooOO88OOoo**

That night, Bilbo awoke to his mate thrashing violently beside him. He sat up in confusion, attempting to blink sleep from his eyes and assess the situation all at the same time. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light level, he knew what had happened; the fire had burned too low and Thorin had rolled up in his blankets too tightly. Despite their position and safety inside the mountain, darkness continued to be a problem for the dwarf, his time as Thranduil's prisoner having left more scars than those on his wrists, and so they had taken to leaving the fire burning high and placing a screen in front of it rather than knocking it apart to smolder.  Somehow they'd forgotten to add more wood to the fire before bed that night.

"Thorin?" Bilbo called softly, so as not to alert the guards Dwalin insisted on being outside the door as long as "foreigners occupied the mountain." While he wanted to rush in and soothe his dwarf as he once had, his delusions that Thorin would not hurt him in such a state had been crushed the day his mate had struck him. He knew now that, in this condition, Thorin could and would strike him. And this time, he might not be as calculated as he had been the last time.

Bilbo Baggins was many things, debatably, a fool was not one of them. He'd seen the strength of dwarves on the quest and in the battle that followed. He knew what they were capable of and also now knew what his bones could take. If Thorin ever dealt him a full blow . . . something would break. Even knowing that, he couldn't leave his mate to suffer this alone.

"Thorin," he tried again reaching out to touch the dwarf's shoulder, his arms safely trapped within the confines of his bedroll, for now. He flinched nearly as badly as Thorin did when the dwarf pulled away. His heart was hammering in his chest but he knew there was nothing for it. _He's trapped in his blankets_ , he thought, attempting to convince himself to do what had to be done, _Just do it._

With a shuddering breath he moved, throwing himself across Thorin's chest lengthwise and placing his hand on the dwarf's face as the dwarf beneath him bucked and struggled to be free, nearly unseating Bilbo when he arched his back and neck to attempt to get away from Bilbo's hand on his cheek.

"Thorin," he repeated more firmly, embarrassed at the way his voice quivered. "Look at me."

Thorin said nothing but shook his head in what was clearly a refusal all while keeping his mouth firmly closed.

"Look at me," Bilbo demanded, attempting to grab the dwarf's jaw and pin his head so he could get into his line of sight. What Bilbo hadn't expected was the violence of Thorin's response. Even with his arms pinned he managed to throw Bilbo from his chest and rise to a sitting position. BIlbo cried out as his backside hit the ground, just managing to stop his head from following with his good arm while instinctively bringing up his amputated limb to ward off an attack. No attack came.

When Bilbo opened his eyes once more, Thorin was sitting up, staring at him as if it was the first time he'd ever seen him in his life.

"Bilbo," he said slowly, "what . . . how are you here? What happened to your arm? Did the elves—"

"I live here," Bilbo said firmly, not bothering to answer the last questions as he knew the memories would return as the nightmare faded. "With you. In your suite of rooms in Erebor."

"No. We've never made it to Erebor. We're still . . . your arm," he said slowly, closing his eyes before opening them once more and looking around, seeing their familiar furnishings and running a hand over his face before fisting a handful of his hair with a deep sigh. "I'm sorry," He muttered eventually moving to put a new log on the fire.

"You had a nightmare," Bilbo replied, his tone a bit more clipped than he would have liked. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I could have injured you," Thorin argued, still messing with the embers in an attempt to get a flame going once more and refusing to turn to face the hobbit.

"You didn't," Bilbo countered, moving to place his hand on Thorin's shoulder only to have the dwarf yank it away.

"I have," Thorin spat, turning to face Bilbo and bringing his hand up to trace the outline of the long-faded bruise that had once marred Bilbo's face before taking the hobbit's right arm and pulling back the sleeve to expose the livid mark that still stood out where they had had to burn the flesh closed. "I could never forgive myself if it happened again."

"It won't," Bilbo said, pulling his arm back and shaking his sleeve back down. He still couldn't stand to look at the scar and he was ashamed to have Thorin see it. The dwarf often told him he was perfect, or a marvel, especially when some visiting dignitary or another praised the beauty of the kingdom claiming that he only had it thanks to his own marvel, but Bilbo knew it was not true. He was not perfect; how could he be when he was not whole? But he supposed that even if he wasn't perfect, neither was Thorin so it was fine.

"It could," Thorin reminded him, though the hobbit needed no reminder of what could happen. His memory of the feral creature snarling at him from above him had not faded, nor had the feeling of his face throbbing in time to his heartbeat while Thorin was restrained from striking him again.

"It won't," Bilbo repeated, needing to believe his own words. Thorin merely smiled sadly and lifted Bilbo's hand in his own to run the hobbit's knuckles along Thorin's own cheek. Bilbo smiled sadly and cupped Thorin's jaw to hold him still for a kiss, stopping when the dwarf flinched and batted away the hobbit's hand.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked softly.

"I'm sorry," the dwarf replied, gently grasping Bilbo's wrist and replacing the hand on his jaw, nuzzling the palm softly.

"What happened in Mirkwood?" Bilbo asked quietly. It wasn't the first time Thorin had pulled away like that after one of these slips when normally he had no objection to Bilbo grasping his chin. Thorin said nothing, turning away once more to stare into the fire. When enough time had passed that it was clear he had no intention of answering, Bilbo moved closer, wrapping his whole arm around his lover's back and resting his head over Thorin's heart, relieved when the dwarf returned his embrace and rested his chin on the top of Bilbo's head. He was content to wait. Someday Thorin would be ready to tell him what had happened and on that day he'd be ready to listen and would remain so even if that day never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this wasn't posted earlier today, but I was having a rant at the end of my new chapter on another fic about the way the end of BotFA was handled. And got into a discussion with a commenter about how the company was pushed to the side in the BotFA movie and realized that in my haste to complete this fic before the movie came out I had done just the same thing. In light of that, I had to add the first little chunk. I hope it doesn't feel too out of place and welcome criticism of it, pacing, the fic in general, anything you'd like really. Hope you enjoy the update :) It'll be a few days until the next one since I work until Saturday.


	53. Most Welcome Arrivals

Winter passed swiftly. Between ongoing restorative efforts and planning for the future repairs there was little time for the present and before any of them could believe it, spring was upon them. The repairs on Dale had reached a point that the men were able to move back into their own town and leave the mountain in peace, though there would still be extensive trade and work happening both in Dale and Erebor that would be collaborative efforts. As uncomfortable as Bilbo had been with the idea of men in the mountain, the reality of the silence they left behind was too much like the silence in the lower levels of Mirkwood's dungeons for his own peace of mind. He hated to think what it was doing to Thorin. Despite Bilbo's worries, the nightmares did not become more frequent and the daytime slips had stopped entirely since the battle. While the lack of Men in the mountain made it more comfortable for Bilbo to move about the mountain, he couldn't help but hope for the first of the caravans to arrive from Ered Luin just so the mountain didn't feel so deserted.

After all, even with the few of Dáin's people that had remained to help with the restoration, Erebor was severely under-populated and as the roads thawed and even Dáin's people made ready to leave once more, the idea of thirteen dwarves and a hobbit being the sole occupants . . . it was daunting. Though he did have to admit that it was nice to just be among the company once more. They did not have the time to spend together that they once had, the tasks necessary to refounding a kingdom keeping them all busy, but they still made time at least one evening a week to dine together. There was only one rule at these dinners; no talk about the mountain. They unanimously decided that there were enough meetings for that purpose that they were owed one evening to be themselves rather than Thorin's Thirteen—as they'd been named.

Bilbo, Balin, Fíli and Thorin in particular had had more than enough of meetings to last them into the next lifetime. The rest of the company had excuses to avoid the more lengthy audiences—Bofur, Bifur, and Dori were needed to oversee the restorations, Bombur necessary to oversee the kitchens, Dwalin to inspect the guards, Kíli often accompanying him, Nori was hard enough to find as he searched for secret passages and weaknesses in the hide of the mountain, Óin still had patients to see who had been injured during restorations while Glóin was still attempting to oversee the cataloging of the treasury and Ori was working tirelessly on the reorganization and preservation of the library( a task Bilbo would have loved to assist with were he able to read Khuzdul)—but for the King, his chief advisor, his heir and his consort to be . . . well, there was no escape from the planning of the lords, each lobbying for his guild's place and funding. Instead, dinner was reserved for talk of their individual hopes, progresses and plans, and while many of these involved the mountain, no talk of funding or debate on locations was permitted. While these dinners never lasted long enough before the demands of the mountain claimed them once more, they were everyone's favorite time of the day. Sometimes, by the end of them, it was easy to forget the later hardships of the quest and go back to the time when they invaded Bilbo's home but with the added warmth that their journey had brought them.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Time continued to pass and  caravans of dwarves continued to filter in as the roads became passable once more. Every time a new dwarf arrived, chaos ensued as they attempted to reclaim the home their family had once lived in and the guild-space they had once had in the market. Actually, market space—even more than family homes—was one of the fiercest debates Bilbo had ever seen.  As ferocious as he'd once thought hobbits to be when the quality of their produce or pastry was brought into question, it had _nothing_ on dwarves when they were going full tilt on the worth of their craft.

Countless dwarves, some too young to have ever _seen_ Erebor, let alone held a position in a guild at the time of her fall, demanded audience with Thorin to debate their claim to prime places in the market. While the hobbit couldn't understand their arguments directly—as they were in Khuzdul—there were a few words in many of them that he recognized from the quest and he knew them to be _far_  less than complimentary words. He wasn't even certain why Thorin insisted that he sit in on court as there was nothing he could contribute, but he was more than willing to oblige his mate as there was little else he was suited to do at the moment.

He still hadn't mastered writing since the loss of his hand and occasionally lost his grip and dropped what he was carrying so he was of no use to Ori and Balin in the libraries for those reasons alone. Not to mention the fact that he couldn't read the language. Occasionally he was consulted when there was a text in Elvish, but those were few and far between and not enough to merit his continual presence in the library. And even with both hands he would have been no aid to the rebuilding efforts, knowing absolutely nothing about stone-works, so rather than protest that he would be more useful elsewhere, day after day he sat and listened. For the first few weeks he'd attempted to learn the language and pick up on common phrases, but, even though he knew that they had to be there, his ear couldn't even tell when one word ended and the next began. After a few weeks of frustration, he'd given it up and resigned himself to sitting between Thorin and Fíli, attempting to keep his lack of understanding from his face as he listened to arguments and complaints in a language he didn't understand.

It was during one of these sessions  that a dwarf came bursting through the door, Khuzdul falling from his lips so rapidly that even Bilbo knew that something catastrophic must have happened. This certainty was only solidified when Fíli shot to his feet and was out the door before anyone else could move. Thorin was only a half-second behind him, barking a hasty order over his shoulder as he swept out the door. They were moving so quickly that Bilbo had to break into a full run to catch them and then had to jog to keep up with their longer legs.

"Thorin, what's happening?" Bilbo panted.

"They've arrived," Thorin replied before continuing down the halls, taking what seemed to Bilbo, even after so many months, to be random turns that eventually led them to the repaired front gates where a veritable army of dwarves with wagons were coming through them.

Bilbo stood there in confusion as Thorin walked to the wagon being driven by a dark-haired dwarf that looked vaguely familiar, even though Bilbo couldn't quite put his finger one why, and grasped the back of his head, touching foreheads before he began speaking to him. Bilbo walked slowly over in confusion when Thorin turned and gestured for him to come, a strange smile on the dwarf's face, wondering just who this strange dwarf was only to have his unasked question answered in the form of Kíli.

"Mother!" he cried barreling into the dwarf that Thorin had only just greeted. He couldn't hear her reply, but he could see from the way that she wrapped around her son that she was thrilled to see him. Only a second later Fíli, too, was crashing into them, wrapping his arms around his mother and brother and nearly knocking them off their feet. As Bilbo grew closer, he could hear that she was muttering at her sons in Khuzdul, alternating between pressing kisses into their hair and pulling back to look at first one then the other, her hands on their cheeks as if she needed to verify that they were truly there.

Even without understanding what was said, Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the reunion of mother and children.  Still smiling, he molded himself into Thorin's side to wait for her to be done. Thorin smiled down at him and wrapped his arm around Bilbo's shoulders, pulling the hobbit more snugly against him. Eventually, with a shuddering sigh and a surreptitious brush of her eyes against her sons' hair, Dís pulled away and Bilbo got his first look at a dwarf woman. Or at least he assumed it was his first look.  He'd always assumed that the company was having one over on him when they'd told him that he would likely not be able to tell dwarf women from the men, but looking at her now . . . there were subtle differences, her jaw a bit rounder under her beard, her eyebrows a bit finer and her fingers a tad thinner, but she could easily pass as a male dwarf to the untrained eye.

"Thorin, who's this?" she asked, glancing at the hobbit and the possessive and protective arm her brother had around his shoulder, her voice a tenor to her male kin's' baritone, though still lower than Bilbo's own.

"Dís, I'd like you to meet Bilbo Baggins," Thorin replied smiling warmly at his hobbit. "This is the hobbit Gandalf suggested as our lucky fourteenth member and he has been that and much more besides. Twice over, he is the reason that I stand before you now and we owe him a great deal of the credit for allowing us to stand here now, though his deeds in that regard are too numerous to mention standing in the entry hall. Perhaps we will persuade him to tell of his part in the quest over dinner. He is rather fond of telling the tale to any who will listen. But most importantly, he is my chosen mate."

When her brother finished speaking, Dís looked at Bilbo in a way that made him feel decidedly like a cut of pork being inspected for quality. He began to wonder if that studying gaze was hereditary or if Thorin and his sister had been trained in it from birth and fought the urge to squirm under her scrutiny.

"You finally chose a mate," she said at last, her face giving away none of her thoughts on the matter.

"I did," Thorin agreed, his voice calm and sure.

"And he's agreed to have you?" she asked, her tone edged with something that Bilbo couldn't place but that made him feel wary all the same.

"He has," Thorin replied. With that, her face split into a grin and Bilbo was reminded instantly of her youngest son. Before he could blink, she had closed the space between them and pulling her brother into a crushing hug before turning to Bilbo.

"You've chosen a hard mine to dig, my lad," Dís said clapping Bilbo just a touch too hard on the shoulder. "My brother is not easy to get on with. He's perhaps the most arrogant and pig-headed dwarf I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

"He is," Bilbo agreed, fighting the urge to rub the spot her hand had come down on. "He can be quite the insufferable dwarf when he has a mind to. But you fail to mention his good qualities, such as his devotion, both to his chosen causes and those he loves. For all his arrogance, he is also a generous, kind mate and a wise ruler."

"Don't step out of line and lose this one, Brother," Dís said with a laugh, not noticing how her words made all of her kin flinch. "You'll not find another like him."

"I have no doubt that you are right, Sister," Thorin replied, pressing a kiss to Bilbo's forehead. "Come, you must be hungry. I'll show you to the kitchens." He offered her his arm, but she walked around him.

"I'd rather Bilbo do it," she said and made to take Bilbo's right arm only to stop at the cool firmness of the wood where she'd anticipate warm  give of flesh before recovering herself and threading her arm through his, grasping his wrist with her left hand and resting her right arm on the hobbit's bicep above the leather bindings. "After all, we have much to talk about and to learn about one another. Besides I've heard that hobbits are experts in all matters of food. I much rather he lead me than _you_. I still recall the debacle of the night you made dinner."

Bilbo was still for a moment, shocked that she had done that. It wasn't that he'd ever told them not to, but the company seemed to make it a point to avoid touching his right arm, other than Thorin that is, and to have her gripping the wood as if it were flesh and blood rather than unfeeling and dead . . . he actually found it relaxing. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed such easy contact, even if he couldn't actually feel it. With a sudden smile, he brought his left hand from behind his mate and placed it over hers at his wrist.

"It would be my honor, My Lady," Bilbo replied, beaming at her and cutting off Thorin's protests that his cooking was quite edible. "I would love to accompany you to lunch and get to know my future sister-in-law. A perhaps learn a bit about my mate that no one else would dare to tell me?"

"But of course," she replied with a laugh. "After all, you can't go marrying him without a full knowledge of his habits, can you?"

"No," Bilbo agreed, ignoring the groan coming from behind him. "However, I'm afraid Thorin will have to accompany us. I, well, I still can't find my way in all these blasted tunnels. It's been _months_ now and I'm just as likely to lead us to the mines or the forges as the kitchens."

"All the more fun," Dís replied lightly. "After all, it's more enjoyable for me to embarrass Thorin when he's there to hear it."

"I think you're going to regret introducing them, Uncle," Fíli whispered loudly behind them. Thorin merely sighed and wrapped his arm around Bilbo's shoulders once more, leading them into the kitchens in the heart of the mountain. It wasn't as if he could have _avoided_ introducing his sister and his hobbit, could he? At any rate, all he could do now was accompany them and attempt to contain the damage Dís could do to his reputation with tales of their youth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so . . . not sure how many chapters are left in this one . . . Thorin and Bilbo got wordy and emotional on me here for a bit so . . . maybe 60 total? 58? IDK, let's find out together, shall we?


	54. Merchants and Blue Silk

Dís arrival turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Not only did she give Bilbo something legitimate to do other than sit in on councils he couldn't understand, or spend time in the company's section of the mountain, she also had quite a way of lifting everyone's spirits when nothing else could. Her good humor and warm smile were infectious and Bilbo could see now why her kin had spoken so highly of her.  With Dís' presence, Bilbo finally found himself pulled out of his rooms and into the life of the mountain once more. He was more than a bit shocked at what he had missed out on while he'd been hiding out. There was so much life that he hadn't realized had come back to the mountains.

The markets, though even the dwarves within assured him they weren't, seemed to have sprang back to their original glory, their stalls already filling with wondrous crafts. There were fabrics there so rich that his missing hand ached. Oh, the things he could make with such fabrics. So many bright colors and patterns! He was just telling Dís of what he would have made with a beautiful green and yellow-gold brocade when they were interrupted by a tailor.

"Pardon me, My Lord," the tailor said, stepping into their path and sweeping such a deep bow that his long red beard brushed the floor, "I couldn't help but overhear. Glor, son of Dwor, at your service."

"And what service would that be, Glor, son of Dwor?" Dís asked coolly, her manner calling her brother to mind more than her more private and open personality.

"My Lady," the dwarf said sweeping her a bow as well, "I merely meant to offer my services. You will find no finer tailor in the Mountain, My Lord, My Lady. I heard what you were describing, My Lord—"

"Bilbo will suffice," the hobbit cut in, uncomfortable with the, in his mind, unnecessary formality.

"My Lord Bilbo, then," Glor replied. "I heard what you were describing and I believe that I would be more than up to the task of creating it. If you will merely step over here, I will measure you and have the finished project delivered to your door by the end of the week."

"No," Bilbo said pulling his arms in on himself and backing away slightly. "I. . . I couldn't—"

"Enter into a contract with someone whose work you've never seen," Glor finished for him. "And I wouldn't expect you to, My Lord Bilbo. We can just get your measurements today and I will, of course, take charge of purchasing the fabric and overseeing the creation of your garment. Should you find it wanting in any way I will, as is proper, assume all costs as my own and all you need do is return the garment to my stall. When you find that it exceeds expectations, then you and I can discuss a negotiation of payment."  Before Bilbo could utter another protest, the dwarf had a tape round his chest and was taking the first measurement before lifting the hobbit's arms and grasping his left hand to extend his arm to its fullest, measuring this as well before moving to the right. He only paused in his chatter a moment at the feel of the wood in his hand before he continued, "a bit longer on the right than the left, not all that uncommon, My Lord, I assure you. Now, would you like emerald buttons to match the green or citrines to match the gold?"

"Emerald buttons?" Bilbo stuttered, wondering just what was wrong with brass and trying to find the words to ask when the dwarf nodded.

"Very good choice, My Lord," he was saying. "Emeralds set in gold, I know just the jeweler to set such stones. I think I have everything I need, carry on with your shopping and expect the finished product before the week is out."

As suddenly as he had come, the tailor was gone leaving a flabbergasted Bilbo in his wake. "Wh-what just happened?" he breathed turning to Dís, who was looking at him in amusement.

"You've just met you first dwarven artisan," Dís replied, laughter coating her words. "Next time, either just keep walking or tell him _firmly_ that you are not interested or that you already have a tailor. Unless you wish to have garments delivered like this."

As they continued through the market, Bilbo found himself accosted by no fewer than twelve merchants before he finally learned to say no in a firm enough tone to get them to leave him in peace. Dís  was less than no help, standing back in favor of watching in amusement the entire time, and left Bilbo wishing adamantly for his mate who he had no doubt would have run the merchants off with nothing more than a glance. While he'd enjoyed his day out of the council chambers, he was never more happy to see his own door in his entire life. After a hasty goodbye to Dís, he dashed through the door and closed it behind him leaning against it with a sigh.

"Rough day, _Gishavel_?" Thorin asked quietly from beside the fire, glancing up from his book.  As many times as he'd seen it, he couldn't get used to seeing Thorin in nothing more than a soft undershirt and breaches. Even seeing the dwarf king in nothing didn't feel quite so intimate. Just that sight alone was enough to make Bilbo feel he was home, the stresses of moments before melting away.

"Remind me _never_ to go to market with your sister," Bilbo sighed, sinking down next to his mate and leaning against him and laying his head on Thorin's shoulder. "She's no help at all." He was shocked to feel a laugh rumble beneath his cheek.

"How many packages should I tell the guards to expect?" Thorin asked. Bilbo looked at him in shock, much to Thorin's amusement. "Dwarven merchants . . . they never change. Any of their wares that are not to your standards, we can return them. It they give you any trouble, simply let me or Dís know and we can intervene. However, do not return the well-crafted items. It would be crass to offend the makers."

"I had best avoid the market in that case," Bilbo sighed. "Else wise I'll have no funds before the mountain is even fully settled."

"My dear hobbit," Thorin laughed, "funds will never be an issue. No matter how many wares you buy. With our combined wealth we could purchase your homeland many times over. The mithril you wore to battle alone is worth twice the Shire."

"What?" Bilbo breathed, feeling that he'd been slapped. Balin had told him it was valuable but not _that_ valuable. How had Thorin thought that was an acceptable present? Rather than reply, the dwarf hummed. 

 "Also, when you go, do not fail to haggle for prices. They will ask more than they want, but give them a fair price as they won't fight you too hard being who you are," Thorin continued.

"Perhaps you'd better come with me," Bilbo sighed, feeling overwhelmed. He'd haggled with hobbits before, but dwarves were so much louder and more brash and with so many commissions expected at the same time, he wasn't certain that he was up to the task.

"I can do that," Thorin agreed. "I've been meaning to inspect their progress rebuilding the markets. I also have a bit of negotiating to do of my own. I commissioned another gift for you. Us, actually." At Bilbo's raised eyebrow, Thorin rose and pulled a small box from his coat sitting beside Bilbo once more before placing it in the hobbit's lap. With a wry glance at his lover, Bilbo untied the bow and lifted the lid to find . . . blue silk.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked, lifting the first of the straps, feeling the material slide against his fingers as he did so. He didn't miss the way Thorin's eyes—the exact shade as the fabric—followed his movements.

"You once expressed a desire for blue silk, did you not?" Thorin said, feeling trepidation stir in his stomach at what he was saying and proposing. He may have purchased them but he was still not certain how well he would cope with carrying out what he was suggesting. He still found himself unable to wear jewels around his wrists or even to buckle his cuffs and as a result he'd seen more than one person stare at the scars that remained in view, but for Bilbo he was willing to attempt this.

"I . . . I did," Bilbo agreed, sensing the tension in his mate. "But . . ." he trailed off attempting to find a way to get out of it for Thorin's sake without calling the dwarf on his aversion to things around his wrists. "But I can no longer tie ribbons, Thorin."

"Look closer," the dwarf replied. Upon following that command, Bilbo saw that the straps had been fixed with metal snaps that could be done and undone with one hand, and—he was guessing—overcome from within if the need arose.

"Thorin," Bilbo sighed, stroking the silk once more, "we don't have to do this. I know you said we could if I got us out but . . ." Bilbo put the lid on the box once more and pushed it aside. "I won't make you uncomfortable for a . . . a twisted pleasure we had once. Not when I can see what that time in bondage did to you every day. I would not even risk forcing you to relive it for even one moment, no matter how wonderful that moment might be. Thank you for the gift but I cannot accept it."

"What of me?" Thorin whispered, looking up at Bilbo with sad eyes. "Broken as I am can you still accept me?"

"Of course I can," Bilbo replied instantly. "You accept me, lacking though I am. How could I reject you?"

"I was beginning to wonder," Thorin muttered. As Bilbo's confused expression, he sighed. "Since the battle we don't make love. Not like we used to."

"Just the other day—"

"There's a difference between sex and making love, Bilbo," Thorin said simply. "We had sex. That's all we've had since Laketown.  I just . . . I'd hoped that by . . . I'd hoped . . . I wanted to offer you something different in an effort to . . . I don't want you to get bored of me, in or out of bed, and decide you no longer love me."

"I still love you, you foolish dwarf," Bilbo replied with a fond smile. "Why else would  I stay?" Thorin didn't  say what he was thinking; that Bilbo couldn't very well go home to the Shire missing a hand. Instead he looked at his hobbit with a crooked grin and said, "Then show me."  Bilbo said nothing but instead raised up and pressed his lips to Thorin's, the kiss tender and at the same time filled with passion.

"Better?" Bilbo breathed without pulling completely away when they came up for air. Thorin hummed his approval, pressing forward once more as his hands began coasting over Bilbo's clothes, undoing any fastenings he came to before moving on. The hobbit allowed it, his own hand attempting to do the same to the  buckle holding Thorin's breaches, moving on and roaming once more when it proved too difficult. Bilbo gave no resistance when Thorin pushed his shirt off his shoulders,  it was only when the dwarf reached for the buckles that held his prosthetic that he pulled away.

"I want it to be just us," Thorin purred. "You and me, in naught but our skin as it once was. Please?" Bilbo nodded and with a sigh extended his arm for Thorin. Starting at the shoulder, Thorin kissed his way down to the first strap before undoing it and kissing the skin beneath, repeating the gesture with the second, and then slowly pulling off the prosthetic, giving the hobbit time to pull away, while pressing his lips to each bit of flesh at it was revealed.

"You're perfect, _Gishavel_ ," Thorin breathed, his fingers tracing the silky, uneven scar gently, his eyes burning with intensity and desire. Bilbo looked away, knowing the words to be a lie, only to be stopped by Thorin's hand on his chin. "I mean what I say, Bilbo," he said firmly, reading the doubt in his mate's eyes. "Never do I say things that I do not mean, this is no different. _This_ ," he continued holding Bilbo's arm before him, "this does not make you imperfect in my eyes. It never will. What makes you perfect to me is not your body, though I will admit that I have no complaints there, it is you. Whatever it is inside you that makes you who you are. I love _you._ Not your hand, _you_. The foolish, courageous hobbit that you are. You are perfect, Bilbo Baggins and I will repeat it a hundred times a day until you believe it."

"I believe that you believe it," Bilbo muttered.

"That's a place to start," Thorin replied, kissing Bilbo as though he could pass his certainty of his mate's perfection through into him with that kiss. He then proceeded to tell the hobbit with his body what he refused to believe from his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) so new chapter up and going. I thought this was going to end up being longer than it turned out to be. But . . . well, I think the next chapter's the last on this fic. I can either post it the day after tomorrow or later this evening depending on what y'all want. So . . . let me know.  
> Stickdonkeys


	55. All Things Must Come to an End

Bilbo awoke with a contented sigh that turned into a smirk of disappointment that the place beside him was cold. Even when Thorin tried to sneak out when had to leave early, he usually woke Bilbo on accident, months of being on edge taking a toll on his ability to sleep deeply. He brushed a hand wearily over his eyes while reaching for his dressing gown, stopping in shock as his fingers brushed cloth. Looking down, he saw two hands spread out before him and felt tears prickle his eyes at the sight. Two hands.

 It had been that damned dream again. The same dream that he had had nearly every night since they had buried Thorin all those years ago. He should have known. It always ended in the same place. They were always happy and together, planning their wedding, but he never went any further than that. But it didn't need to. He knew how things would have ended. Even if they all would have survived the Battle and remained in Erebor they would have still been separated. Time and age would have done what an army of orcs had failed to do. After all, hobbits and dwarves did not go to the same place in the afterlife. Death would still have parted them forever, just as it had all those years ago. With that depressing thought in mind and knowing that he would not get to revisit the dream that night—he never did, no matter how long he tried— he sat up to get out of bed, surprised at how easy the task was. He hadn’t moved that freely in years.

As he dressed, he was surprised again by how easy the buttons were to fasten, almost as if the had been greased with butter or the holes made bigger. Laughing to himself at the preposterousness of such a thing, he moved to open the door and stopped, shocked to see smooth skin rather that the age spotted hands he had come to know as his. He studied them carefully, wondering if he had not awoken but had only moved from one dream to the next. That explanation made the most sense as he looked around and realized that he was somewhere he had never seen before. It was not Bag End, nor his room in Rivendell, nor any portion of the ship he had recently boarded. It didn’t appear to be a room at all, but rather a misty dreamscape.

“This is not a dream, Bilbo Baggins,” a voice deeper than the earth itself said behind him. Bilbo turned to face the speaker. Though he had never seen him before either, somehow he knew that he was in the presence of a Vala and he had a suspicion that he knew which of them was before him. Though taller and fairer than any dwarf, with his build and fiery-red braids, he still had a slightly dwarvish air about him, as well as the earthy, metallic smell that Bilbo had come to associate with them.  There was little doubt in his mind that he now stood in the presence of Mahal.

“Then what is this?” Bilbo asked tentatively. He knew that it was rude to ask questions of a Vala, but he could not control himself. Perhaps he had spent too much time with dwarves over the years and their rudeness had rubbed off on him.

Rather than be offended by the hobbit’s words the Vala smiled, recognizing a spirit akin to that of his own children in the child of his mate, and asked a question of his own. “Do you know who I am?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Bilbo replied, refusing to give voice to his suspicion, all the while wondering if he had lost his mind. It almost amused him that it had happened the way it did. It was almost ironic that, despite being called 'Mad Baggins' for the greater part of his life, he would finally go mad on the way to the Undying Lands where his state would be eternal.

“I believe you do. At the very least you do know of me, though you do not know _I_ am me,” the Vala replied with a smile that made Bilbo think that he may have heard Bilbo’s thoughts on madness as well as his musings on whether Istari and Vala were trained in that circuitous speech or if they did it just to seem mysterious. “I am known by many names. The Elves know me as Aulë, though, perhaps, you know me, as my children do, by the name of Mahal. I have come to you because though the First Born believed they would be granting you a boon in allowing you to pass into the Undying Lands for the honor you gained through your suffering for the good of Arda, I feel that it would not be a boon, but rather a punishment.

“I have come to offer you an unprecedented choice, Bilbo Baggins. You may continue on to the Undying Lands, as the others have planned for you, or you may come with me,” Mahal said smiling warmly down at the hobbit. “There are many in my halls who would take great joy in seeing you once more. It is your choice, my dear hobbit, and yours alone. If you need some time—“

“I don’t need time!” Bilbo cried happily at having his suspicions confirmed and realizing what the offer truly was. “I will accept your offer!”

“Come then,” the Vala said as he smiled and bent at the waist to extended his hand to the hobbit. Bilbo did not hesitate to take the proffered hand and allowed himself to be lead away, the mist around them melting away and being replaced by a grand hall. No sooner had the new scene solidified than Bilbo felt himself almost knocked off his feet as a he was engulfed in a strong pair of arms. He closed his eyes around the tears that were stinging them. Even without seeing the dwarf who they belonged to, he knew those arms. With a small sob he brought his own arms up and wrapped them around the body pressed against him, his mind refusing to believe what he was feeling. Then he spoke, his voice sounding just as Bilbo remembered it.

“I never thought I would see you again,” Thorin whispered into his ear squeezing the hobbit so tightly that he was unable to breathe. It felt so good for him to be holding  his hobbit after so long that he couldn’t restrain himself. He knew that it was not proper behavior, but he could not care less. Bilbo, who he _known_ was lost to him forever due to his own foolishness was here.

“Thorin,” Bilbo managed to gasp out. The dwarf, realizing his mistake, loosened his hold though he did not release the hobbit from his grip. Bilbo took advantage of the freedom he now had to move to pull back slightly and look at the dwarf. While it was clearly the same dwarf he loved, Thorin was not _exactly_ the same as Bilbo remembered him. His face had no lines, his hair no grey and his eyes held none of the weariness they had possessed in life, though they did hold a sadness that hadn't been there before. As he looked at him, Bilbo realized that he was seeing Thorin as he would have looked as a young dwarf if he had not been so burdened by life circumstances. It pleased him to see the dwarf he loved this way.

“I’ve missed you,” Bilbo said quietly as he looked up at Thorin and raised his hand to stroke his face as he had desired to do for eighty-one years. He felt tears sting his eyes once more as Thorin leaned into the touch and he felt his lover's beard scrape along his palm, the warm heat of him radiating across the space and warming Bilbo from a distance. He had never been so happy and thanks to Mahal they never had to be parted again.

Realizing suddenly that he had committed a severe rudeness to one who had been so kind to him, Bilbo turned to try and find the Vala to whom he owed so much only to discover that he was no longer there. In the place where he should have been there were other dwarves, all recognizable but, as with Thorin, not the same as they had been the last time he had seen them—with the exception of Fíli and Kíli who were unchanged. Though he was sad to see them, as it meant that they were dead, he had missed them all so much that he soon forgot that it was something tragic that had brought them all together once more.

Thorin watched as Bilbo was greeted by the portion of the Company that was already in the Halls of Mandos with a smile on his face. Watching them embrace and clap shoulders, it was as though no time had passed, though he knew that it had. He could see the years in the eyes of the hobbit though the love that burned in Bilbo’s eyes as he looked at him was stronger than ever. He found himself wondering what he had done to earn the undying love of such a sweet creature despite the wrongs that he had done to Bilbo. He now knew that no amount gold in the world was worth what he had given up to gain it. Bilbo's love and the lives that had been lost were worth more than a mountain filled with gold, even if he'd forgotten it for a time.

Almost as if he had heard Thorin think his name, the hobbit turned to smile at the dwarf. It was a gentle smile, but one that was filled with promise. Despite all that had passed between them, they would be fine. They were together again and everything would be fine. And now, Thorin had an eternity to make up for his mistakes to his hobbit and he knew just how to start. Walking towards the hobbit, he carefully extracted Bilbo from Kíli's hug and nuzzled along his ear.

"Come, _Gishavel_ ," Thorin muttered, not missing the shiver that went through the hobbit at the term of endearment—though he didn't know the true reason behind it. "We have much time to make up for and I have much apologizing to do."

"This apologizing," Bilbo asked, smirking up at the dwarf, "does it require clothing?" Thorin did not reply, but his smirk left Bilbo's skin tingling and with a laugh he allowed the dwarf to lead him deeper into the halls. Perhaps he wasn't too old for adventures after all.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Gandalf felt a tear prickle his eye as he entered the room where Bilbo had laid down to rest during the voyage. He could see before he reached the bed that the hobbit was no longer breathing. It was always hard, and it never got easier no matter how many times it had happened, to watch those that he had grown close to grow old and pass on, but this death—despite the fact that he would miss Bilbo—brought a smile to the face of the Maia. He could feel the magic of the Valar in the air and knew Bilbo had been granted something none had before him and that none would after.

“Uncle?” Frodo called poking his head around the door and seeing the wizard sitting on the edge of the bed. “Uncle?” When the old hobbit did not stir Frodo walked to the wizard’s side and saw that though there was a smile on Bilbo’s face he was not breathing. “Is he . . .?”

Gandalf nodded offering Frodo a sad smile. “He has taken a journey on which we cannot follow him,” Gandalf said placing a hand on Frodo’s shoulder.

“Why?” Frodo asked. “I was sent to get him. We’re almost there. He almost made it home.”

“No,” Gandalf replied gently, pulling the young hobbit against him. “No, Frodo. He made it. Bilbo _is_ home.”

**ooOO88OOoo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final chapter of this fic. I hope you enjoyed it and do not feel too cheated by the ending (which, though tweeked a bit from the original, has been written since this fic was began). Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, bookmark or give kudos on this story so far and those of you that will after it is over. A special thank you to those of you that took the time to leave me a comment. I do apologize for the lack of timely replies to those but want you to know how much they warm my heart. Thank you all!


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